


My Witcher Isn’t Working, Can I Get a Refund?

by byronicmusings



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aggressive herb gathering, Aggressive looting, Beards (Facial Hair), Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Drowner brains, Fast Travel, Feral Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt cant parkour, Geralt does weird shit, Geralt is a damn THIEF, Geralt is a dumbass, Geralt is back on his bullshit yet again, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Being an Idiot, Grilled Chicken Sandwiches, HOW ABOUT A ROUND OF GWENT, I didnt really think this through, Jaskier almost kills Geralt, Jaskiers main role in this fic is to go: what the fuck, Lots of inventory space, M/M, Many boats get harmed in the making of this fic, Monster punching, Reckless Sailing, Roach Kicking Ass, Stairs hate Geralt, Teleporting Roach, The Wind Howls A Lot, Video Game Mechanics, geralt MEDITATES [gasp], geralt flirts more than jaskier. much more, geralt has a suspicious amount of fisstech, geralt is a dumbass first and a witcher second, glitching, he also has extremely big pockets, himbo npcs, i dont know why thats an actual tag but im using it anyway, jaskier gets a heart attack in almost every chapter, what is new
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24142819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/byronicmusings/pseuds/byronicmusings
Summary: Jaskier stared in horror at the man before him.No, notman, because nomanwould ever do something so horrifying and appalling such as this without so much as atwitchto his face, and even though Jaskier spent most of his time and effort trying to convince this self-deprecating hunk of a witcher that no, he was not a heartless monster and was in fact, still human in many aspects, Jaskier could not bring himself to do it now. Not this time.Maybe not ever.~You know how some game mechanics make sense in games but are absolutely ridiculous in real life?Crackfic where instead of grand adventures and heroics, Jaskier spends his travels having to deal with Geralt’s absurd behavior - from horrifying eating habits, his ridiculous collection of broken rakes, aggressive herb gathering techniques, to a frankly scary obsession with Gwent, among other things.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 723
Kudos: 1012
Collections: Best Geralt





	1. Bread and Butter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter in about two hours, which is a miracle in and of itself. My writing process usually consists of days of staring at a blank screen, weeks of sleepless nights and several sacrifices to the gods before I am able to summon a but a pittance of my meager writing abilities. I sincerely apologize if my writing isn't up to standard but anyways, enjoy!

The fight wasn't going so well. 

Geralt had been hired to get rid of a cow-stealing griffin by an irate baron, who was tired of being pestered by angry pitchfork wielding farmers. It seemed a simple enough job - Geralt had indeed spotted signs of a griffin on their way to the village - and had even allowed Jaskier to come along, much to the excitement of the bard. 

They had tracked it to its nest up the hill to find said griffin pouring over a fine collection of beef, bones and cow carcasses strewn messily across the floor. Geralt managed to get in a couple of hits on the distracted beast before it even realized that he was there, and Jaskier, fairly confident in Geralt's abilities, expected the fight to be over within a minute. That is, until another griffin descended from the sky, bearing down on Geralt with righteous fury.

The angry Griffin lunged forward, sharp claws slicing through the air. Geralt dodged swiftly to the side, throwing up the sign for Igni with a flick of his wrist. The beast shrieked and writhed in flames as the other Griffin closed in on Geralt from behind, its claws making contact and slamming into Geralt's torso before he could avoid the blow.

Jaskier gasped from his hiding spot in the bushes as Geralt stumbled from the force of the hit, casting Quen just in time to deflect another set of claws. He was looking slightly pale now, face scrunched in concentration, eyes darting about as he kept track of the two Griffins, trying to land attacks whenever possible. 

There was a slight lull in the fight as the three circled round each other, tension crackling in the air. Jaskier was seriously contemplating charging right up onto one of the Griffin's back and stabbing it wildly with the knife in his boot when he saw Geralt reaching for one of his pockets. _A bomb perhaps, or another potion?_

Geralt brought the item to his mouth just as the monsters threw themselves at Geralt, snarling, but he only sidestepped away. He was still holding the item in his hand - Jaskier couldn't really make it out - before he brought it to his mouth again. 

And again. 

And again, as the Griffins attacked furiously, while Geralt dodged and danced around their claws with an indifferent expression on his face.

_What the hell is he doing?_

By this time, Geralt had gotten close enough for him to make out the item in his hand. Jaskier squinted hard, looking at the item, its coarse light brown exterior, vaguely familiar, looking like - 

Bread. 

A loaf of bread. 

_Why the fuck was Geralt eating bread in the middle of a fight?_

Jaskier watched on with increasing confusion and bewilderment as Geralt casually finished the last piece of his bread before blasting the two agitated griffins with a well timed Aard, throwing them back with a loud slam.

_Huh_ , Jaskier mused as Geralt delivered the killing blow to one before descending on the other with renewed vigour, colour returning to his cheeks. The griffin screamed as Geralt slashed at it mercilessly, faster and stronger than ever, feathers and blood flying everywhere. 

_Must have been really nice bread._

_~_

  
  


Jaskier stared in horror at the man before him. 

No, not _man_ , because no man would ever do something so horrifying and appalling such as this without so much as a _twitch_ to his face, and even though Jaskier spent most of his time and effort trying to convince this self-deprecating hunk of a witcher that no, he was not a heartless monster and was in fact, still human in many aspects, Jaskier could not bring himself to do it now. Not this time. Maybe not ever. 

‘Geralt.’ His voice was shaking.

‘Mmhm?’ Geralt, the bastard, didn’t even look at him. Instead he walked towards Roach, rummaging through the saddlebags with his left hand. In his right….. Jaskier shuddered.

‘What the _fuck_.’ 

Geralt turned around, still chewing. ‘What.’ 

Jaskier lifted a hand to his forehead. He looked around wildly, desperate to find the same horrified expression on someone else as a confirmation of the scene before him. Alas, there was no one else but them in the middle of this godforsaken forest. Roach whinnied, throwing her head back as if in laughter. Geralt stared at him. Jaskier’s eyes landed on the pale yellow block in his fingers. He threw both hands up in exasperation. 

‘I- Don't- What-’ Jaskier scrambled to form a coherent sentence. He sucked in a deep breath and tried again. 

‘Why the flying _fuck_ are you eating a _stick of butter_? Like _that_? On its own? What the _fuck_?’ He screeched, voice climbing higher by the second, arms waving around madly. 

Geralt looked down at the offending object in his hand. He glanced back at Jaskier, mild confusion on his face. There was a pause. 

He held the half-eaten stick of butter out. There were bite marks in it. ‘Do you want some?’

‘HELL NO!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not and will never understand why or how butter regenerates 50 vitality in the game. If anything, it should deduct 50 because Geralt what the fuck??? 
> 
> I have four other chapters planned so far but I might be adding more! If you have any suggestions or have had any other wacky things happen to you in the game feel free to share so that we can laugh at Geralt together (and also so that i can write a chapter on it if im up to the task)


	2. Herbs, Schmerbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt shows off his aggressive herb gathering techniques.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My earliest memories in White Orchard involve me sprinting around fields trying to loot herbs without having Geralt slow down. 
> 
> Also, I really love TW3, but the running/walking transition animation makes Geralt look like he's one second away from breakdancing.

Potions are a big part of a witcher’s life. They help keep the senses alert, aid in stamina regeneration, give witchers the extra edge in a fight, yadda yadda. It’s no surprise then, that Geralt takes his herb gathering very seriously. Always keeping stock of the herbs on hand, collecting extra to make sure he doesn’t run out. Jaskier gets it.

What he doesn’t get is why Geralt has to sprint around the whole damn field, slowing only for the briefest of seconds to snatch up some herb from the ground before darting off again like he’s in some damn relay race. 

He’s been at it for quite a while now, crashing through bushes, the rustling of leaves a near continuous background buzz. Jaskier feels tired just by looking at him. 

‘Geralt,’ he calls, swaying slightly on Roach as she ambles along the path adjacent to the field. Night was approaching - they’d been travelling for days now, and Jaskier was very much looking forward to sleeping in a bed tonight. 

No reply. 

In the distance, Geralt runs across the field in haphazard circles. If Jaskier didn't know better, he would've thought the witcher a mad man.

‘Geralt.’ Slightly louder this time, as he coaxes Roach into a trot. He’s pretty sure that Geralt can hear him, witcher senses and all. 

Geralt scurries even further, his figure getting smaller, barely a blob of black against the setting sun. 

_ That bastard -  _

‘GERALT OF FUCKING RIVIA!’ Jaskier all but bellows, startling Roach and a handful of birds that take off into the sky with a series of indignant squawks. All those years of singing and lung training - he’s got a pretty fucking loud voice, and if Geralt was still going to pretend to not hear him, that man was in for a real treat. 

He spots the figure pause, thankfully, and watches as it grows bigger, as Geralt’s features start to take shape, looking slightly bashful.

'Are you done gathering your herbs?' Jaskier asks, not unkindly, as Geralt falls into step beside him, face slightly red with exertion.

'Yeah. Sorry, got carried away.' Geralt lifts his hands, both of which are absolutely full with herbs of all sorts. Celandine, white myrtle petals, fool’s parsley leaves. It is kind of impressive, actually. 

'Damn, that's a lot. How many did you manage to collect in total? Twenty? Thirty?' 

'A hundred and three.' 

Jaskier stares at Geralt. 

‘I have more in my pockets,’ Geralt adds, as if that explains anything. 

'And how many do you actually need to brew a single potion?' 

'Hmm, it depends. Mostly two or three each.' 

'... And you collected a hundred and three in total.' 

'Yeah.' 

Jaskier doesn't even reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl the first time I stepped out of the house after playing the witcher I saw a bush with flowers and I was like oh shit gotta collect those herbs
> 
> I previously said I had four chapters planned but I got a couple of new ideas (no thanks to some of your amazing comments) sooo there'll probably be more than that! Please do keep the comments coming I love comments :))))


	3. They see me rollin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 34987214 times Geralt almost killed himself and 1 time Jaskier almost killed Geralt
> 
> (or, when stairs, ladders, mountains and Geralt's own clumsiness are more lethal than monsters)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly longer chapter! Rewrote this a couple of times because I just wasn't satisfied with it (still not tbh) but I don't wanna linger too long and make it worse so enjoy!

Geralt has a problem with heights. 

It isn’t fear, no, because if anything, Geralt is one of the most fearless people Jaskier has ever met. Instead it is more of an…. unlucky streak of sorts, one that seems to strike whenever the man is above ground, leaving the ever so cautious witcher stumbling around clumsily like a newborn babe.

The thing was this - for some unfathomable reason, Geralt was absolutely incapable of going down the stairs like a normal person. 

Going up was no problem. Jaskier knows from observation - perfectly scientific, of course - that those muscular thighs were capable of functioning properly, if the delightful straining of rippling muscles and that absolutely sinful derriere against his pants were any indication.

But whenever they descended some stairs, Geralt would trip halfway and end up rolling all the way down.

It was funny, at first, _perhaps a slip of the foot, Geralt, it happens to everyone, even witchers_. But then it happened every single time and Jaskier started to become concerned. What if Geralt hit his head? 

Geralt didn’t get why he kept slipping either - he’s a witcher for god's sake, what use are faster reflexes if he cant walk down the stairs without tumbling down like a fucking loon each time?

_No witcher has ever died in their bed_ , yes, but Jaskier was very sure that _no witcher has ever died from the fucking stairs_ either. He didn’t want Geralt to be the first. 

He suspected that Geralt much preferred falling prey to a measly drowner than a couple of inanimate stone steps, and Jaskier kind of understood. That, at least, he could turn into an ornamented tale of a ferocious battle with the King of Drowners - a bloodthirsty monstrosity no one alive has ever laid their eyes on, a passing shadow in murky waters, ready to drag unsuspecting people to their deaths with slimy, webbed hands bigger than a man’s head. That he could work with.

The stairs however… he honestly had no idea. His ballads were full of emblishments, true, but even he wouldn’t know how to save the White Wolf’s reputation if word got out that a couple of fucking _steps_ were his _downfall_. Literally. 

And as if the stairs weren’t bad enough, there were the ladders. 

Jaskier honestly doesn’t get what it is about ladders that Geralt hates. Because unless _absolutely_ necessary, Geralt doesn't use ladders. At all. 

If there was a platform they needed to reach, Geralt would just jump up, grab the ledge and heave himself up with a grunt. Even though a ladder was right there to make things easier. 

If they needed to descend, Geralt would bypass the ladder entirely and _throw_ himself off without so much as a glance down below.

What if the drop was five stories? What if there were monsters below? What if he miscalculated and ended up plunging down even further?

Jaskier had lost count of the number of times he'd seen Geralt hurl himself down with reckless abandon, only to hear him crashing into something - boxes, barrels, the wall, a fucking arachnomorph nest (Jaskier absolutely refused to accompany Geralt into caves ever since) - occasionally accompanied by a loud ‘ _ow’_ from the man. 

Do witchers not have any sense of self-preservation? Aren't they supposed to, with their extremely dangerous lifestyles and all? 

Jaskier doesn't know if it's a witcher thing or a Geralt thing. He thinks it's the latter - because if his travels with Geralt had taught him anything, it is that the man can do weird fucking shit some times. 

And if things couldn't get worse - there were the mountains. 

He remembers their journey in Skellige a few months back, when they were heading down south to Holmstein’s port, right next to Kaer Muire. It was their fourth day of travel through forests and snowy mountains, the salty tang of the sea ever so present in the air. They had climbed a mountain to get a better bearing on their position and had left Roach further down, rather content to munch on grass with a couple of friendly goats. 

‘Are you sure we’re going in the right direction, Geralt?’ Jaskier looked around as they hiked up the mountain, his hair fluttering in the wind. The sky was a lovely shade of blue, and it was rather pleasant for a winter’s day, all things considered. 

‘We need to look for the ruins of Fornhala. There’s a road from there that leads over the mountains directly to our destination.’

‘I don't see anything.’ Jaskier squinted, straining to see the view before him. 

‘Me neither.’ Geralt frowned. ‘I think we should go higher.’ 

They climbed for several more minutes until they reached a steep incline. The ground opened up to a flat area further up ahead, the last stretch before the peak.

'Careful, Geralt.' Jaskier cautioned the witcher, who was a few paces in front of him. His boots dug into the snow with a crunch, some of it tumbling down the slope. 

Geralt took another step forward. 

'You wouldn't want to- ' 

And tripped on his feet, falling face first into the ground. 

' - fall down again.' Jaskier sighed.

Grunting and cursing, Geralt attempted to get back up. 

But the snow shifted underneath him, because he was too heavy and the floor too steep. Jaskier clambered to the side as Geralt’s body weight slowly dragged him down - down the slope and past where Jaskier was standing just moments prior, as Geralt scrambled for purchase in the snow, hands clawing desperately to stop his decline. 

Alas, it was no use, and Jaskier could only watch helplessly as the snow crumbled under him, as Geralt picked up speed and slid down, down, _down_ the _entire length_ of the mountain for an excruciating minute, his figure getting comically smaller by the second, before crashing and vanishing into the depths of the lake down below.

All was still, for a moment.

And then Geralt emerged, gasping for air, the sounds of splashing water and muttered curses drifting up to Jaskier's ears. Jaskier watched as Geralt swam and heaved himself up onto dry ground, right into a herd of inquisitive goats that immediately swarmed him and plucked at his armour with a chorus of melodic _baas_.

The whole scene was quite ridiculous, really - the Butcher of Blaviken, feared by many, dripping wet and soaked to the bones, overcome by a couple of determined goats that refused to leave him alone. Jaskier couldn't help the laughter that escaped his throat as Geralt swatted at them frustratedly, more curses spilling from his lips. 

Satisfied that the bumbling idiot didn't drown himself, Jaskier turned and continued his way up the mountain, deciding to wait for him at the peak. 

He reached the top with no incident, thankfully and was comfortably settled on the floor, trying to find appropriate rhymes for _slide_ and _goat_ when Geralt returned, looking like a drowned rat, a murderous expression on his face.

‘Ah, Geralt! There you are.’ Jaskier greeted. 'Seriously, I think you ought to get a mage to look into this. This is the third time you've gone tripping and sliding down a mountain - if it's not a curse I don't know what else it could be.' 

Geralt stormed past him and headed for the mountain’s edge, surveying the land before them.

Jaskier went to stand behind Geralt. ‘If it’s any consolation,’ Jaskier adds, lifting a finger, ‘the whole affair took only twenty-three minutes and forty-six seconds this time, a considerable improvement from twenty-nine minutes prior. If anything, I’d reckon that you’re getting better at this whole sliding business-’

'I see it,' Geralt cut in. 'There.' 

Jaskier squinted over Geralt's shoulder, at the direction of his outstretched hand. He could make out vague shapes on the mountain opposite, which looked more like a couple of rocks.

'Eh. Can't see anything, but you're the one with the enhanced senses, not me.' He gave Geralt a hearty slap on the back. 

He realized the consequence of it too late. 

'Oh shit-' Jaskier gasped as Geralt took a step forward, more out of habit than actual force - 

Only for his foot to meet air as he toppled over the mountain's edge and disappeared from Jaskier's sight with a startled shout.

'FUCK!' 

Jaskier’s heart dropped in his chest. Panic gripped him as he leaned over the edge, almost throwing himself off in the process, expecting to see Geralt's body in free fall before dashing to mush at the bottom. _What was he going to tell Roach?_

Instead he saw a very _alive_ Geralt - thank the gods - sliding down the mountain and crashing into the lake once more. 

This time, Jaskier could very clearly hear Geralt's enraged shout of 'JULIAN ALFRED PANKRATZ' echoing amongst the mountains in booming tones, scattering the army of goats which were about to launch their second wave of assault on the witcher. 

_Ah, fuck, I almost killed him._ Jaskier's heart was pounding. He sat back on his haunches, very relieved. He was definitely going to get an earful from Geralt when he went down. 

_Oh well_ , he thought. At least he didn't send Geralt to the _other slide._

Jaskier snorted at his own joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the lame pun i didn't know how else to end it 
> 
> i spent way too much time running around the mountains in Skellige trying to find some inspiration for this story (yes, you can actually see Fornhala from the mountain range near Fyresdal, yes there is a lake there too, yes i did slide down by accident numerous times (my record slide is currently 22 seconds), and yes i accidentally launched geralt over the mountain and actually killed him but we dont talk about that) 
> 
> also am I the only one that hates using ladders? idk it's just more satisfying when u run and time that jump right for geralt to grab the ledge and heave himself up
> 
> anyways thank you guys so much for the comments!! im glad i managed to make some of you laugh, reading the comments make me really happy too so please do keep them coming! :)))


	4. How do you like that silver?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt kills some drowners and possibly traumatizes Jaskier in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve written [feral Jaskier](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23543557), now get ready for F E R A L G E R A L T  
> I told myself I’d upload this chapter within a week of chapter 3, but for some weird reason I thought a week was 10 days (quarantine is taking its toll) so I apologize for the extra wait time!  
> Just a heads up: this chapter is slightly bloodier/gorier than the rest, so take note!

Geralt was a cautious man. 

He had to be, of course, considering how he fought deadly monsters for a living, and how coming into close contact with deadly claws and poisoned fangs were just part of his daily job. Whenever he got a contract Geralt would always follow a certain procedure - gather as much information as he can, identify and track the monster, drink the appropriate potion and apply the correct oils to his sword before stepping into battle. 

Preparation was important, so to speak, and Jaskier had never seen the man run blindly into battle without planning. 

That is, until now. 

Granted, the monsters Geralt were currently so viciously decimating weren’t for a contract, but instead regular ol’ drowners they had chanced upon while travelling near the coast. They had spotted a group of them, about six in total, gallivanting by the water, eating some poor fisherman’s bloated corpse, too absorbed in their meal to take notice of the pair. They were still quite a distance from them anyway - the path they were on turned inland and away from the coast, and Jaskier was expecting Geralt to throw his bombs to get rid of them from afar so they didn’t have to stray from the track. 

Geralt had done it once before, to show Jaskier the power of his bombs - dragon’s dream first, to release a cloud of flammable gas, dancing star next, for a fiery explosion to set the monsters and gas aflame, and devil’s puffball as the _grand finale,_ to poison the lucky - or unlucky - few that had managed to survive both an explosion and being set on fire. 

The result was rather stunning actually, the poor creatures had all dropped dead, licks of fire still on their skin, some still twitching in pain as the last of the poison coursed through their bodies. Geralt didn’t even need to get off Roach. 

He still did though, and was barely gone for a minute before he came jogging back with the grossest collection of monster parts Jaskier had ever seen - drowner brains coated in gore, tongues gruesomely ripped out, a sheen of saliva still on them, vials of dark swirling blood, some of it having congealed - it was absolutely disgusting, and Jaskier had almost puked several times from the smell alone. He’d chosen to walk from there, refusing to be near both the bloodied sack fastened to the side of Roach’s saddle and Geralt, citing that the witcher should reflect on his actions for attempting to cause such distress on someone with _delicate human sensibilities_ like himself. 

Geralt had snorted at that, of course, and had the gall to ask him to ‘get over it’ - _that bastard_ \- because apparently ‘the brains were going to finance their stay at the inn’ - _as if anyone would buy that sack of nasty drowner parts off him?_ The last time Geralt had dumped a sack of rather assorted monster eyes and claws onto an innkeep - quite literally, the sack was overflowing and eyeballs were rolling off the counter and onto the floor - the poor lass had screamed her lungs out and fainted on the spot. He felt terribly sorry for her, really, but that didn’t stop Geralt from trying to very aggressively haggle off his loot to every merchant they came across. 

Jaskier could go on and on about Geralt’s repulsive looting habits and his tendency to intimidate hapless peasants into purchasing a filthy bag of rotten monster parts they absolutely had no need of, but he had digressed far enough. 

Back to the drowners at hand - Geralt did not reach for his bombs this time, but instead hopped off Roach without a word. _Well, I guess he’s bringing out the silver, then._

He was not.

Geralt ran towards the group, a full head-on tilt, sand flying everywhere in his wake. He was closer now, almost within striking distance. The drowners had heard his approach and turned to face him, yet he still made no move to unsheathe his sword - instead, Geralt charged towards the closest drowner and _punched_ it straight in the face, the sheer force of the blow sending the now lifeless body soaring through the air and landing into the water with a loud splash. ‘Take that, you piece of filth!’ He roared. 

Jaskier watched on with increasing confusion and amazement as Geralt turned to the next drowner and elbowed it in the head, the sickening crunch of broken bone making its way to Jaskier's ears. _Geralt’s finally gone mad_ , he thought, as Geralt wrapped a rough hand around its neck and hurled it at the others with a great shout, knocking two of them down. 

A drowner leaped at the witcher just then, claws poised to attack. Geralt nimbly dodged to the side and stuck his arm out, hooking it around the creature's neck. He used his own momentum to slam it into the ground, raining brutal punches on it with his other hand as it kicked and struggled and screamed while trapped under Geralt. ‘How do you like that silver, huh?’ He yelled, as blood and gore spurted all over. Jaskier squinted. What was Geralt talking about? He wasn’t using any silver. 

A slightly larger drowner took advantage of his distracted state and jumped onto Geralt’s back, biting him in the shoulder. Jaskier held his breath as Geralt grunted, twisting and attempting to pry the drowner off, unable to prise free from its tight grip. Using both his hands to grab the drowner’s arm, Geralt mustered his strength and threw it over his shoulder with a bellow of rage, slamming the poor drowner into the ground with yet another awful crack.

Geralt was breathing heavily now, a wild look in his eyes, blood streaking down his shoulder, bits of drowner guts in his hair and face. Jaskier briefly wondered if Geralt was going to whip out some bread again. 

The remaining two drowners stayed back, hesitant to attack. Geralt was not - he barrelled into one of them and knocked it onto its back, punching wildly. ‘Damn, you’re fucking ugly,’ he sneered, in between blows. The other drowner attempted to slash at Geralt with its claws, but Geralt was faster - he turned and caught the drowner’s arms just before it could connect with his head and yanked _hard._ It toppled onto the ground with a screech, and Geralt wasted no time in associating his fist with its face. Repeatedly. 

They were all dead now, six drowner carcasses strewn about in varying states of gore. Geralt stood up, still panting, flicking bits of flesh off his hands. Jaskier rode up to him, a safe distance from the carnage. 

‘Don’t you have your swords to, you know, make all this easier?’ He gestured vaguely.

Geralt shrugged, surveying the mess about him. ‘I got caught up in the moment.’ 

Jaskier’s eyes swept over the smashed heads and visible bone. ‘Looks like you won’t be collecting any drowner brains this time,’ he commented, secretly pleased. ‘But damn, that was brutal.’ 

There was a pause. ‘Also, do you always talk so much when you’re fighting?’ 

Geralt ignored the last question. ‘I’ve always wanted to punch a drowner.’ He picked up a piece of monster teeth on the floor, inspecting it. ‘Swords and Igni make it too easy.’ 

‘Ahh, Geralt, you brute.’ Jaskier clicked his tongue. ‘So you’ve punched drowners to death,’ he counted off his fingers. ‘What’s next? Going to wrestle a bear? Challenge a rock troll to a fist fight?’ 

Geralt looked at him. ‘I’ve already done both of those.’ He replied, matter-of-factly.

Jaskier raised a brow. ‘You’re kidding.’ 

Geralt grinned. ‘Look it up, bard. I was named the Champion of Champions in Skellige a few months ago.’ 

Jaskier was about to reply when a strong gust of wind blew past, almost causing him to topple off Roach. Geralt’s head snapped upwards. He squinted at the grey clouds gathering in the sky, frowning. ‘Wind’s howling. Looks like -’

‘Looks like rain, yeah yeah I know. We best get moving, then.’ Jaskier glanced at the drowner tooth in the witcher’s hand. ‘Geralt, dear, I know you love your brains and monster parts, but please just leave them this once. I’m not riding Roach with those things and if I walk, we won’t be able to make it to the village before it starts pouring. ’ 

Geralt’s eyes flickered back to the dead drowners. ‘I’ll walk, then. You go on ahead with Roach, don’t wait for me.’ He was already pulling out his knife, heading for the nearest carcass. 

‘What? I’m not leaving you behind -’

Geralt stabbed the body, carving into its chest. Jaskier grimaced as Geralt dug his fingers in and ripped its heart out with a nauseating squelch. ‘I’ll catch up,’ he murmured, twisting the heart around as he examined it, not even looking at Jaskier. 

Jaskier threw up in his mouth a little. He clutched his chest, tasting bitter bile at the back of his throat. Roach, _bless her_ , must have sensed his distressed state, for she gave a snort and trotted back towards the path, the sickly stench and sound of Geralt’s minstrations disappearing as they got further. 

‘How do you even deal with this all the time?’ Jaskier winced, shaking his head to get rid of the memory. Roach whinnied, as if to say _you’ll get used to it._

It seemed like only several seconds had passed before he heard the patter of footsteps behind him. Jaskier turned, and the sight before him was so terrifying he actually _screamed_ \- a man was sprinting towards him at breakneck speed, his front splattered with bloodstains, a sack slung over his shoulder dripping with crimson blood. Jaskier felt a moment of sheer terror before he realised that the stranger had white hair and two swords on his back, and that it wasn’t a bloodthirsty lunatic chasing him but Geralt the witcher, his fucking travelling companion. 

‘What the fuck, man?’ Jaskier shrieked at Geralt, who was now running alongside Roach. If he wasn’t so worked up, he would’ve been impressed by Geralt’s speed. ‘You trying to scare me to death, is that it? Going to wait for me to drop dead, and then carve my heart and brains out too?’ 

Geralt’s eyes widened. He held his hands out placatingly. ‘Woah, Jaskier. Relax. I’m not going to do that.’ 

The village was in sight now. ‘Urgh. I need a drink,’ Jaskier mumbled, suddenly wearily. 

Geralt nodded. ‘I’ll meet you at the tavern.’ 

He was finishing his second mug of ale when Geralt walked in and sat across him. The bloody sack was gone. Geralt called for more ale, which Jaskier snatched up as soon as the barmaid set it on the table. He took a long gulp and slammed the mug back down, only to find Geralt looking at him with a smug grin on his face. 

He stared at Geralt.

Geralt stared at him.

‘The drowner hearts paid for that, you know -’

‘Shut the _fuck_ up.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever see a group of monsters from afar and go charging in, thinking that Geralt would automatically unsheathe his sword, only for him to not do that and instead land a flimsy punch on the monster? *cue frantic dodging + spamming controls trying to get the correct sword out* 
> 
> Geralt can only punch and kick in the game, but I figured that it wouldn’t be very entertaining to describe the same few actions over and over again. Plus I've been waiting for an excuse to write some feral geralt and drowners actually being punched to death, so yeah he’s actually kinda cool here! For once. 
> 
> Or maybe not, because he’s a dumbass and just can't bear to leave without looting every single body part off a monster, even when there’s a storm coming, dammit. I had a lot of fun writing this, I'm glad I managed to include quite a number of absurd game things in this one, but oh man I felt so bad for Jaskier. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone again for your comments (especially those who have been commenting on every chapter :’) ). I have like 4 half written chapters right now but I've been having a bit of a writers block so please do keep the ideas coming :))


	5. Fast & Furious: Skellige Drift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier embark on a _simple contract_. A _really, really, really, simple_ contract.  
> (or, Jaskier finds out the horrifying origin of grilled chicken sandwiches and Geralt learns that stealing, contrary to popular belief, is actually _not okay_ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long to update! I spent way too much time on this chapter,, (although in my defense this chap is literally longer than the rest of this fic combined so) lol enjoy!  
> p.s jaskier swears quite a bit in this chapter

In hindsight, Jaskier should’ve known that nothing was ever _simple_ with the witcher.

Geralt had announced that he had to leave town for a day - the Jarl had asked for his help to get rid of some pesky bandits hiding away in the small islands to the north of Skellige. It seemed straightforward enough - no rogue sorcerers to deal with, no overcomplicated political maneuvering, and Jaskier could probably come up with a list of monsters he had gotten up close with that were more terrifying than a bunch of ragtag bandits. He was fairly certain that he would survive, Geralt was more than capable of taking down a couple of men swinging rusty axes around, and if it came to blows, well, he could hold his own in a fight. 

The islands weren’t too far off, and Jaskier assumed that they’d be back before nightfall, ending their day with a hearty meal in the tavern and a proper bed to sleep in. 

Which was why he decided to tag along.

It was a simple task, really. 

Except that it turned out to be _not._

The first of Jaskier’s troubles of the day came in the form of transportation. Skellige was surrounded by sea, afterall, and if they wanted to get rid of the bandits, they first had to procure a boat to take them to their destination. Considering the official nature of the job - Geralt and the Jarl did seem to be on rather good terms - he’d assumed that Geralt would’ve taken up equally _proper_ means of preparation, namely hiring someone familiar with the isles to take them there or making the necessary arrangements to rent a boat. 

Geralt did neither. 

‘A-are you sure we can take that?’ Jaskier asked hesitantly as Geralt jumped into one of the many unattended boats at the edge of the harbour. 

‘Yeah.’ Geralt settled himself at the stern of the boat as if he had all the rights to do so. He looked at Jaskier expectantly and gestured for him to step on. ‘Come on.’ 

Jaskier glanced around the busy harbour. A couple of shipwrights and guards bustled about. None seemed to take any notice, but Jaskier was uncertain about sailing off on some stranger’s boat. ‘Are you…. sure?’ Not that he didn’t trust Geralt - there was no one he’d trust more with his life, of course, but Jaskier had come to learn (from several horrifying incidents) that the witcher was rather... _unreliable_ when it came to distinguishing what was socially acceptable behavior and what was not. 

There was a look of indifference on Geralt’s face, as if this _daylight thievery_ \- because what else would this be? - wasn't something to be concerned about. ‘Another boat will appear to take its place. Get on.’ 

Jaskier had no idea what that meant. He complied anyway, after another dubious glance down the harbour. He stepped gingerly onto the boat, half expecting to be immediately pelted with crossbow bolts and angry accusations of theft. The townsfolk had been nothing but pleasant to them so far, but he sure as hell didn’t want to anger a bunch of scary, battle hardened, axe-wielding warriors.

He was in the process of settling down on the small seat by the front when a mean-looking guard turned in their direction and made eye contact with him. 

Jaskier froze. 

_Oh shit. We’re going to jail. Or maybe they’ll just kill us on the spot. What if we surrender? How’s the legal system in Skellige like? Wait. Do they even have lawyers? Oh! The guards don't carry any crossbows. We might be able to make a break for it before he alerts the others. Shit. How fast can this boat travel? I’m not going to die here, fuck me, I’ll fight all of them if I need to -_

The guard dipped his head in a curt nod and looked away. 

Nothing happened. 

_Huh_.

Jaskier heaved a huge sigh of relief. His heart was still pumping like mad because _oh my god I almost fucking died_ (this was false) _and we’ve not even set out yet_ , and if Geralt could hear a rat scuttling miles away, he could definitely hear Jaskier’s thundering heartbeat. As if in affirmation, he glanced up to find Geralt with an insufferable shit-eating grin plastered on his face, apparently enjoying Jaskier’s panic far too much. 

‘Oh fuck you.’ He scowled at Geralt.

‘That may be a little hard to do on the boat, but if you insist -’ 

‘ _I swear to god_ -’  
  


_~_

The next of Jaskier’s troubles came in the form of Geralt himself, _unsurprisingly_ , who immediately set about trying to kill Jaskier in several different ways. Not on purpose, obviously, but the whole journey was torturous enough that Jaskier wished several times that the guards back at the harbour had killed him instead. That certainly would have saved him several near heart attacks and the 20 years he had aged during those few hours on the boat.

For one, Geralt’s boat steering skills were _horrendous_ . Jaskier was not an expert on nautical matters, but he was fairly sure that boats were supposed to be powered by the wind, and not… whatever _this_ was - for when Geralt placed a hand on the steering mechanism, the boat immediately jerked to life, shot out of the harbour in a blur, and cut through the water at insanely high speeds. If Jaskier didn’t know better he would’ve thought that they were being powered by a _fucking tornado_ , even though there really only was a gentle sea breeze at best. 

He had resorted to clinging onto the wooden pole that held the sail after almost getting thrown off the boat a couple of times within the first five minutes alone. Sure, it wasn't the most graceful or comfortable of positions, but his life was on the line here and he had no intention of dying in the middle of the goddamn sea because Geralt of fucking Rivia was a mad man with no goddamn idea on how to sail a goddamn boat properly. If he were a captain of a vessel, he probably would've flung all of his sailors and cargo out of his own fucking ship with his hazardous sailing and then sunk it with the sheer volume of his own stupidity.

The landscape didn’t help at all either - peppering the sea were little bits of barely visible land that Geralt had to swerve around lest they crash, and at this speed Jaskier found the feeling much akin to being thrown around like a ragdoll by a furious griffin.

Geralt's ass must've had some magical properties on it's own, for the man stayed perfectly planted on his seat even as the wind whipped around them and the waves crashed violently against the side of their boat.

'WOULD. YOU. SLOW. DOWN???' Jaskier shouted over the flapping of the sail and the roar of the wind in his ears. 

'I CAN'T.’ Geralt shouted back, looking far too at ease given the current circumstance. ‘THIS IS THE NORMAL SPEED. ANY SLOWER AND I’LL HAVE TO STOP.' 

‘ _NORMAL_ SPEED??? YOU MEAN THAT IT CAN GO FASTER?? WHAT KIND OF FUCKING BOAT IS THIS??' 

The boat suddenly lurched to a halt. 

Inertia yanked him out of his seat, and Jaskier let out an ungodly shriek as he was thrown from his precarious position and sent sprawling onto the middle of the boat at Geralt's feet. 

'Ow,' he rubbed his head and turned to glare at Geralt. 'What the fuck was that for?' He was about to launch into an angry tirade on Geralt’s reckless sailing when the witcher dived into the sea and disappeared underneath without a word. 

Jaskier stared. _What the hell?_

He sat there for a good minute, gawking at the relatively calm water as the boat bobbed gently in the waves. It was actually quite peaceful out here. The contrast between the sudden tranquility and the unbridled chaos that was but a few moments earlier sent him into a sort of stunned, perplexed state. He saw the shadow of someone emerging and leaned forward, intending to help pull Geralt on board. 

A dead siren floated to the surface.

Jaskier screamed. 

It was at this moment that the real Geralt appeared, dragging a huge chest behind him. He heaved himself up and dragged his loot into the boat with a loud thud. He shot a worried glance at Jaskier, who had collapsed against the other side of the boat in shock. 'Are you alright?'

'Am I-' Jaskier sputtered. 'Am I _alright_?!?! You go about stealing a boat, spend the next fucking hour trying to throw me off with your sailing, jump into the sea without any fucking explanation, and then a dead siren appears out of nowhere and then you come swimming carrying up some huge goddamn chest out of the fucking sea as if its just another normal fucking day and you ask me if I'm fucking alright!?!?! Do I look alright to you!?!?' Jaskier felt like he was going to have an aneurysm. 

Geralt had the decency to look guilty. 'Sorry,' he rubbed the back of his head. 'I, uh, spotted a smugglers cache. A siren attacked me while I was trying to get it free so I shot it with my crossbow.' 

‘Great. Thank you for the clarification. Explains a lot, really.’ 

_~_

Jaskier would've liked to say that they reached their destination without any further problems but alas, destiny was a bitch. They were only several minutes away from the island when a gaggle of sirens descended on them, screeching furiously, probably here to avenge their earlier fallen kin. Jaskier ducked as claws swiped past his head. 'Geralt! Would you kill them already??' 

'I'm trying,' Geralt grunted as he swung his silver sword at a siren. He managed to land a small hit before the siren reared up with a shriek and flew out of his reach. Frustrated, he shot a blast of Igni into the sky. It missed. 

Jaskier yelped as he felt the familiar heat tickle the side of his face. ‘Are you insane, man? You’ll burn the whole damn boat down!’ He pulled a knife out of his boot and charged at a siren who was attempting to rip a chunk of the boat out, stabbing wildly. ‘Fuck off, bird!’ There was an ear piercing screech as the siren clutched at its bleeding abdomen before dropping lifelessly into the sea. The boat was already damaged, however, and Jaskier watched with horror as water started seeping into the boat through a crack. 

‘Geralt! There’s a hole in the boat.’ He shrugged his doublet off and attempted to stop the leak. He really did _not_ want to swim the rest of the way to the island. 

‘Give me - argh - give me a minute.’ Geralt attempted to slash at a siren again, only for him to trip over the side of the boat and fall into the water with a loud splash. 

Jaskier looked up just to shoot him an incredulous look. ‘You fucking kidding me?’ How Geralt managed to survive this long, Jaskier never knew. 

The other sirens were attacking their boat now, tearing at sails and slashing at wood. Jaskier was about to resign to his fate when a low horn blast startled him. The sirens all fell into the sea simultaneously, like puppets with their strings cut. The boat tilted dangerously as Geralt climbed back on. 

‘You couldn’t have used that horn before all _this_ ,’ Jaskier gestured to the now sad-looking boat, ‘happened?’ Some of the wood was completely ripped off. The sail was in tatters. Water continued trickling in through the various cracks. How the boat didn’t sink yet was a miracle. 

‘I forgot I had the horn.’ 

Jaskier pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a long suffering sigh. ‘You know what? Okay, fine. Whatever. Let’s just get to the island as quickly as possible before this boat sinks.’ 

_~_

They _did_ get to the island without any further incident this time. Jaskier didn’t know whether to thank the gods or to curse them. The boat had miraculously managed to survive the last leg of their journey. 

That is, until Geralt accidentally crashed it into a bunch of rocks at the side of the island.

_‘Perfect_ ,’ Jaskier said, as he watched the pitiful remains of the boat sink to the bottom of the sea. He couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at Geralt. The day’s events had left him feeling as if he had just fought in a war. He was feeling strangely numb. 

The sun had already set. Geralt must have felt real bad for Jaskier, for he immediately ushered him to a relatively sheltered spot, sat him down on a stump, and went about making camp. Jaskier watched in a daze as Geralt went about collecting firewood. Fatigue was starting to take hold of his body. ‘Wait,’ he suddenly realized, putting his head in his hands. ‘Urgh, we don’t have our bedrolls.’ He had to sleep on the cold, hard ground. _Could this day get any worse?_

Geralt snapped his fingers and the wood caught on fire. The island was rather big - the imposing shadow of an abandoned keep, which was where they assumed the bandits were hiding at, loomed quite a distance away. They weren’t in much danger of being spotted. 

‘That won’t be a problem,’ Geralt replied. And then he whistled, short and light. 

Jaskier sighed wearily, head in his hands. ‘Geralt. We left Roach back at the stables, remember? It's not like she can come here anyway. We're in the middle of the fucking sea.’ 

‘Like I said,’ he repeated, sounding unconcerned. ‘That won’t be a problem.’ 

Jaskier was about to chalk this up to just another one of Geralt’s weird traits when he heard the familiar clopping of hooves. His head snapped up as a shadow appeared amongst the trees and -

‘Roach.' _Of course._

Said mare trotted up to Jaskier and nudged him, looking far too pleased with herself. Geralt unloaded their bedrolls tied behind the saddle and laid them out on the ground. 

'I'm sure Roach broke several laws of science to get here, but I’m honestly too tired right now to question the current circumstances.' He patted her flank wearily.

'At least she bothered coming. She ignores my calls most of the time.' Geralt shot a bitter look at Roach. He shook out a silk cloth and laid it on the floor. 'Do you prefer gold or silver cutlery?' 

Jaskier looked at him blankly. 'What?'

'Gold or silver cutlery?'

'Uh,' Jaskier raised his brow at the sudden unexpected question. 'S...ilver?' 

Jaskier watched as Geralt reached in the saddle bags and procured two sets of silver cutlery, complete with a matching plate and goblet. He arranged them nicely on the cloth. Jaskier had no idea what the fuck was happening. Was he dreaming already? Did he fall asleep? 

'Chicken, pork or mutton?' Geralt took another glance in his saddlebags. 'Or fish?'

‘What.’ Jaskier said intelligently.

‘Dinner, Jaskier. What do you feel like eating?’ 

‘Ah. Um.. I’m fine with anything, really.’ Jaskier was getting more confused by the second.

‘Okay,' Geralt nodded.

He proceeded to take all sorts of food out of his bags and pockets - slices of grilled pork, a _whole_ roasted chicken, mutton legs, cooked fish, dried fruits, dumplings, baked potatoes, cheese, berries and even some cake. Jaskier gawped as Geralt artfully arranged platefuls of food on the cloth in front of them, which was rapidly running out of space.

He topped it all up by presenting Jaskier with a bottle of wine. 'I know you love your Fiorano.' He popped the cork and filled both of their goblets.

‘I- uh- wow! Okay, that is _a lot_ of food.’ Jaskier couldn’t comprehend the scene before him. It was a feast. He had no idea where Geralt stored all of that or why he was suddenly being so generous, but he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He picked up a fork - real silver, to his astonishment - and started eating. He hummed in approval. Everything tasted really fresh.

‘Oh.’ Geralt said. ‘Almost forgot.’ And then he pulled out a fucking _candelabrum_ \- because who doesn’t carry one around - and placed it among the plates. He lit the candles up with another snap of his fingers before taking a step back to survey the scene, nodding in satisfaction to himself. 

Despite the ridiculousness of the situation, the sweet gesture left a pleasant warmth blooming in Jaskier’s chest. He laughed in surprise. ‘Since when were _you_ a romantic?’ 

Golden eyes swung to his, glowing gently in the firelight. ‘Since I met you.’ 

‘Gah,’ Jaskier waved his hand. ‘You can’t go around doing this to me, Geralt. I’m still mad at you. I almost died so many times. You’re a shit captain.’ 

‘I know.’ 

‘Wait,’ Jaskier narrowed his eyes. ‘Is that why you’re doing all this? Trying to buy me over with food?’ 

‘Hmm. Is it working?’ There was a cheeky grin on his face.

‘...Maybe. Ah, you bastard. Stop looking so smug.’

Geralt laughed. ‘I can’t help it.’ 

'Still. This is nice.' Jaskier drank from his goblet, savouring the taste. 'If only I had my lute.' He gave a wistful sigh. He had left his own lute back at the inn, for fear of water damage from the sea. 

'I have one,' said Geralt, and Jaskier's eyes widened as the witcher walked to his saddlebags and pulled out an _actual lute_. ‘Here.’

'How did that fit in there? With all that food?' It was a physically impossible feat - the lute itself was too bulky to fit. He plucked the strings, gave the wood a light tap. It was a real functioning lute, albeit a little out of tune. 

'I have a lot of inventory space.' 

Jaskier had no idea what that meant. ‘Inventory space?’

Geralt nodded, not offering any further explanation.

Jaskier nodded back, pretending to understand. 'Right. Inventory space.' 

He strummed a few chords, sang a few lines, swaying with the music. He looked up to find Geralt staring at him. They locked eyes for a few moments.

Jaskier sighed. ‘Fine, fine. I forgive you. Happy?’

‘Very.’ Geralt grinned. 

_~_

By the time he woke up the next morning, Geralt had already packed away most of their camp. They set off for the keep after a quick breakfast, leaving Roach behind to graze while they travelled by foot. 

The sun was already high in the sky when they reached the abandoned keep, and Jaskier was starting to feel rather worn from all the walking. A steel sword hung heavily from his own hip - the _Tir Tochair Blade_ , as Geralt had called it. The witcher had casually pulled it out of his saddlebags - which Jaskier was now very sure a bottomless pit - and handed it to him, just in case Jaskier needed something to protect himself with. According to Geralt it had an ‘ _additional 35% chance to cause bleeding_ ’, which didn’t really make much sense to Jaskier because what kind of sword wasn’t designed to cause bleeding? He didn’t know where that 35% came from. Maybe they made the sword 35% more sharp? 

The sword was a little too long for his taste, but if things went well, Jaskier wouldn’t even need to use it. The drawbridge to the keep came into sight, and Geralt motioned for him to hang back. Jaskier watched from afar as Geralt made quick work of the lone sentry outside before charging into the base, steel in hand. Shouts and screams followed not long after. 

Jaskier clicked his tongue. _Ah, Geralt. So little finesse_ . He walked up to the entrance of the keep and casually leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed, watching the fight. There were about twenty bandits in total, all too engrossed in combat with the witcher to notice the bard. He shook his head in pity at the odds. _If only they had five more people. The fight would’ve been even then._

The bandits were laughably easy to kill. All Geralt had to do was cast Igni and do some fancy whirling move with his sword and they would drop like flies. Jaskier briefly wondered if Geralt ever got dizzy from spinning around so much. 

‘I’ll rip off your melon and shit down your neck!’ A particularly aggressive bandit yelled, only to be promptly decapitated a moment later. 

Geralt threw a northern wind bomb into a cluster of bandits. ‘Blast them motherfuckers!’ Jaskier shouted, cheering wildly as the witcher proceeded to Aard the souls out of those poor frozen men. The panicked screams of the remaining bandits rang in his ears. ‘Conjurin’! The bastard’s conjurin!’ Jaskier ducked as a stray crossbow bolt whizzed past his head. ‘Rude!’

The bandits were all dead in no time, and Geralt set about doing what he always did after a fight - looting. There was thankfully no need to collect body parts this time. Jaskier didn’t know how he would react if Geralt actually started collecting human brains and teeth. Run away, probably. 

‘Do you really need to collect all of their weapons?’ Jaskier asked, eyeing the disorderly collection of swords, axes and clubs in Geralt’s arms. 

Geralt narrowed his eyes at him as if the answer was obvious. ‘Yes.’ He whistled for Roach. 

‘I don’t think she can hear you from here. We left her back at -’ 

Roach trotted up from behind him. 

Jaskier held his hands up. ‘Okay. Okay.’ He had almost forgotten what happened last night. This wasn’t _that_ much of a surprise, considering how Roach had somehow managed to hear Geralt whistling for her from across the sea and magically made her way to this island in a matter of seconds. He had been too tired to question it last night, but now… he had to ask. 

‘How the _hell_ does she do that? Get here in like two seconds? Cross the fucking sea? Does she stalk us or what? Can she swim? She has magic?’ 

‘She’s fast.’ Was all Geralt said. He walked up to Roach’s saddlebags with the bundle of weapons in his arms. 

‘Right. Sure. Very _fast_.’ Jaskier didn’t think he was ever going to get a proper answer from Geralt. 

He was suddenly feeling rather hungry after the small breakfast they had hours earlier. He grimaced, patting his grumbling stomach.

‘Here,’ Geralt took out a sandwich from his pocket and handed it to him. The weapons had all mysteriously vanished into the saddlebags within a span of a second. 

‘Ooh, grilled chicken!’ Jaskier took a bite. He nodded approvingly at the taste, eyes lighting up. ‘Mm, that’s good.’ He scarfed it all down in a few quick bites.

Geralt wordlessly handed him another sandwich. 

‘Damn, how many do you have?’ He took another bite.

‘I have eighteen more, if you’re still hungry.’ 

Jaskier paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth. His eyes flickered down to the twenty bodies on the floor and back to Geralt. ‘Please don’t tell me you looted the grilled chicken sandwiches off them.’ 

‘Why not? They’re tasty.’

‘....Did they _all_ have a sandwich on them?’ 

Geralt nodded. 

While most of the bandits were wearing what would be constituted as armour, there were several brave souls who sported significantly _less_ protection - opting instead to rely on the meagre coverings of nothing but _braies_. 

Braies which had no _pockets_. 

Jaskier gulped, fearing the answer to his next question. ‘....And where, pray tell, did these… _well-dressed_ gentlemen keep their sandwiches?’

A pause. 

Geralt’s gaze shifted to the bandits and back to Jaskier. And then - 

His lips curled up in a mysterious smile.

_‘For fucks sake -’_

_~_

Jaskier vehemently swore to never eat grilled chicken sandwiches again. 

~

They left the keep half an hour later, after Geralt had finished poking around in every single broken barrel and crate and climbed every climbable surface he could find. He only fell down twice, which was pretty good considering Geralt's track record with heights. 

'Are you fucking done yet?' Jaskier shouted up to Geralt, who was busy standing on the highest point in the keep, a crumbled wall three stories up, staring off into the distance as the wind billowed dramatically around him like some brooding hero in a play. 

'Winds howling.' Said Geralt, deadly serious.

'That's the third _fucking_ time you've said it today! Would you get down already?' Jaskier was starting to lose patience with Geralt's theatrics. He snorted at the thought. His _theatrics_. Who knew that Geralt could be more of a dramatic bitch than him? 

Geralt turned around, intending to hop off the wall. Instead, he slipped, lost his footing and came crashing down all three stories, landing right next to Jaskier. 'Ow.'

Jaskier sighed. 'Are you alright?' 

Geralt grunted, pushing himself up. 'I'm fine,' he said, as he took out a grilled chicken sandwich and ate it. 

Jaskier gagged a little at the sight.

_~_

‘How are we going to get back to the mainland?’ Jaskier squinted across the sea. It really was rather windy now, the waves were kind of rough. ‘Should we wait it out?’

‘I’ll swim across and bring a boat back for you.’ 

Jaskier blinked. ‘ _Swim_ ?? Across the fucking _sea?_ Look at the waves! It’s impossible.’ 

Geralt pushed up his sleeves. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve done it before. Quite easy.’ Without another word, he jumped into the water and swam away.

Jaskier watched incredulously as Geralt’s figure rapidly shrunk amid the tumultuous waves. _That man is fucking mad._ ‘I guess I’ll just… wait here with Roach then.’ He settled on a rock and pulled out the lute Geralt gave him yesterday. Roach snorted and stamped on the grass. 

_~_

Geralt returned with a boat about an hour or so later, which Jaskier thought ridiculously fast. 

‘Geralt. Did you steal someone's boat again?’ Jaskier eyed the pile of nets and fishing equipment in the boat suspiciously. 

‘.... _No_.’ Geralt looked away. 

Jaskier crossed his arms and shot him an unimpressed look. 

Geralt fidgeted slightly.

Seconds passed.

‘Argh, fine. I _borrowed_ it, okay? I’ll return it after we’re done.’ The witcher grumbled. 

‘There you go! Was it that hard?’

‘Yes.’ Geralt mumbled under his breath.

‘I heard that.’

_~_

It wasn’t until they were halfway to their destination when Jaskier gasped in realization. ‘Oh fuck! We left Roach behind!’ 

Geralt waved him off. ‘She’s fine. She’ll find her own way back.’ 

_~_

They dropped the boat off at a fisherman’s hut, a pleasant old man that hobbled out to thank them for _‘finding’_ his boat. 

‘Someone’s been stealin’ boats round here… I’ve lost five boats in the past month alone, was fearin’ that this would be the sixth! Thank ye kind lads for findin’ it.’ He gripped Jaskier’s hands in heartfelt appreciation. 

‘Oh no, sir,’ Jaskier smiled warmly, clasping the man’s hands. ‘It’s our pleasure.’ 

He turned around and shot Geralt a murderous look. 

Geralt avoided his gaze.

_~_

‘I can’t believe you’ve been stealing that poor man’s boat for the past month! Look at him! How could you?’ They passed through the village gates, having walked all the way from the fisherman’s hut.

Geralt looked down guiltily. ‘....I’ll pay him back.’ 

‘You sure as hell better!’ 

They collected their pay at the Jarl’s before heading to the blacksmith, Roach having materialized next to them at some point. ‘Hello girl,’ Jaskier greeted as they walked alongside each other, running a hand through her mane. ‘Sorry for leaving you back there.’ Roach neighed in response.

As expected, Geralt dumped the whole load of weapons he had looted off the bandits earlier onto the blacksmith’s counter. ‘I’m looking to sell.’ 

‘Ah. Sure.’ The blacksmith replied, a pained smile on his face. Jaskier could literally see his heart breaking as he traded a fat pouch of coin for a bunch of dirtied swords and axes. 

Geralt being Geralt, of course, couldn’t leave it at that. He played a round of gwent with the man and fucking _won_ , further divesting the blacksmith of a hundred crowns.

‘You evil bastard.’ Jaskier shook his head. He swore he saw the poor man trying to blink back tears as they headed for the door. 'You probably just doomed his entire family to starvation.' 

_~_

They returned to the fisherman's hut that evening to pay him back. The man was shocked by this act of kindness and vehemently refused the money, but they insisted. More like Jaskier insisted, while Geralt hovered guiltily beside him. 

The fisherman invited them in for dinner, and they had a rather lovely meal together. Geralt pulled out some wine and even left a couple of bottles for the old man, much to Jaskier's delight.

The old man’s eyes widened at the sight of those expensive bottles. 'There’s really no need, lad.' 

'It's an apology.' Geralt scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

'An apology? You've not done me any wrong.' 

'Apology for …. not being able to find your other stolen boats.' 

'Nonsense! You wouldn’t have been able to find those anyway,' the man shuffled up to Geralt and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, looking into his eyes. 'It's not your fault.' 

Jaskier snorted at the irony of the situation. ‘It actually kind of _is_ ,’ he muttered behind his cup, too soft for the man to hear. 

Geralt glared at him.

Jaskier only shrugged back.

_~_

'I seriously had no idea that you were a chronic boat thief,’ Jaskier said in disbelief as they got into bed that night. ‘Did you really crash _all five_ of them?’ 

‘Mmppphhhh,’ Geralt articulately replied, face buried in a pillow. 

Jaskier raised a brow. ‘Refusing to answer, I see. Since it seems to be a rather _regular occurrence_ , I think you should update your list of titles.’ He cleared his throat, raising his voice to mimic a court announcer. ‘Here comes Witcher Geralt from the School of the Wolf - Robber of Rivia, Butcher of Boats.’ 

Geralt groaned and turned to face him, eyes pleading. 'Please never say that again.' 

This time, it is Jaskier with the shit-eating grin. ‘Oh no,’ he smiled. ‘I think I will.’ 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the boat physics in the game really do not make sense.  
> also sirens are a pain in the ass. am i the only one that keeps forgetting that i have hjalmar's horn??  
> the grilled chicken sandwich thing was inspired by [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/witcher/comments/5p3vw4/this_bandit_was_carrying_a_grilled_chicken/)  
> geralt on the wall is me trying to find the best camera angle and taking way too many screenshots of the scenery  
> the picnic scene took me the longest to write - i spent about half an hour staring at my inventory trying to decide what food/items to include (i was also reaaally tempted to make the scene a little more Romantic but it felt a little out of place amongst all the crack *clenches fist* i tried to tone it down a little i still think it feels weird but!! whatever the both of them can have a little Romantic Time as a treat)
> 
> let me know what you guys think of this chapter! again any ideas are welcome and oh if you have any favourite npc dialogue feel free to leave them down in the comments too, i'll see if i can squeeze a couple in in the future!


	6. Press A to Loot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt and Jaskier visit a friend for a couple of _‘supplies’_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i use an xbox controller to play the witcher and i think ive mashed the A button way more than the other buttons combined 
> 
> the village/forest here is based on the one outside Flotsam in the second game
> 
> also, MaskoftheRay did some [amazing fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25097722/chapters/60801292#workskin) for this chapter!! 🥺❤❤ do check it out and give her some love!!

It all started when Geralt announced that he had to stop by a friend’s place for _supplies_.

Jaskier had raised his brow at that, because _I didn’t know you had friends, Geralt,_ ( _shut up,_ was the eloquent reply), and they were already pretty stocked up when they left town a day ago. Geralt had somehow managed to cram in a week’s worth of food, extra clothing and other travelling necessities into Roach’s saddlebags (Jaskier had decided not to question how in a bid to keep his sanity intact) and had also prepared enough bombs and potions should they encounter any monsters on the way. Jaskier had naturally assumed that said ‘friend’ was perhaps a merchant peddling in rare items or magical goods, and so did not enquire further on the subject. 

That assumption, of course, turned out to be _wrong_. 

Geralt had led them to a small, remote village nestled in a rather dense forest. Massive trees loomed high above them, the canopy thick enough to provide some much needed shade from the late afternoon sun. It was a tiny settlement, a cluster of about four or five huts located next to a trickling stream, a couple of villagers tending to crops or milling about. They dismounted, and Jaskier followed as Geralt made his way to the nearest house where an old man with a pipe sat outside on a bench, next to a stack of crates and barrels. 

‘Witcher!’ The man greeted in a booming voice. ‘It’s been a while.’ 

‘Hello, Dagmar.’ Geralt walked over to the stack of crates. ‘How are things? Any more arachas show up?’ 

Dagmar shook his head. ‘Ain’t seen any since the day you blasted those nasty fuckers to hell,’ he chuckled, taking a drag of his pipe. 

Geralt opened up the top crate and peered inside. ‘That’s good.’ He reached in and pulled out a broken rake. 

‘Been awful quiet round here, though.’ Dagmar sighed. Geralt pocketed the rake. Jaskier blinked. Was he really seeing this? ‘Odrin left a couple o’ weeks back. You remember him? He’s a drunkard and full of shite, but gods he was our only source of entertainment in this damn forest. Everyone loved his stories.’ 

Geralt snorted. He reached in again and pulled out a coil of rope. ‘Hard to forget such a man. Where did he go?’ He stuffed the rope into his pocket. 

‘Eh, don't know.’ Geralt moved the top crate aside and crouched as he began to dig through the one at the bottom. ‘Bastard said somethin’ bout startin’ a business in the city. Pah! What business? He ain’t got nothin’ - no money, no skills, no fuckin clothes even, the goddamn idiot left in his underclothes! All he does is drink. The fuck is he gonna sell, huh?’ 

‘Empty bottles, I imagine.’ Geralt grabbed a handful of silver ores from the crate. They promptly disappeared into his clothing.

Dagmar gasped and slapped his thigh. ‘No wonder he was hoarding ‘em bottles! He had a whole lot stashed up in his house! Didn’t let anybody near them too.’ He scratched his beard, muttering to himself. ‘Gods damn it, should’ve taken some of ‘em. Hmm. Might have some old bottles lyin’ round the house. Wonder how many crowns that’ll get me...’ Geralt shook out a bundle of old sheepskin. 

‘They’re worth a crown each, I think.’ More sheepskin. 

‘A crown each, huh? That ain’t too bad.’ 

Jaskier stood awkwardly to the side and watched, unsure of what to do as Geralt casually looted Dagmar’s belongings in front of the man himself. Was this some sort of arrangement? Was the man blind? Jaskier wanted to say something, he really did, but the situation was so ridiculous and absurd he didn’t know what to fucking say. 

‘Thinking of moving too?’ Geralt moved on to the barrels. He fished out some leather straps and iron ingots. 

‘Hah! I’m too old for that. Don’t like the city anyway. Too noisy. Gives me a headache.’

Geralt gave a humourless laugh. ‘I know how that feels. How’s Marlena?’ A stack of cured leather appeared.

‘She’s doin’ well, aye. Wounds healed over nicely. Blasted spiders left a couple o’ scars though.’ 

‘She was lucky to escape with only scars. Most people don't escape with their lives.’ Geralt extracted a rusty pickaxe head from the barrel. 

Dagmar sighed. ‘I know, witcher. I know. Lass was real lucky you showed up just in time.’ He took another drag of the pipe. Geralt inspected the pickaxe head. 

‘She held up well. Well enough to hack off two of its legs, at least. Not many are brave or skilled enough to do that’ He slipped the rusted metal into his clothing. _That can’t be comfortable_ , Jaskier thought.

‘Ah, always was a fiery one, that girl.’ Dagmar chuckled, a fond smile on his face. ‘Reminds me of her mother.’ 

The door of the house opened just then, a young woman with brown hair and freckles peeking around the corner. ‘Da, could you - Oh! Hello, Geralt!’ 

Geralt nodded. ‘Marlena.’ 

‘Hello, hello.’ She smiled at the both of them. ‘Da, could you check on Aniela? She’s playing by the stream with the other children.’ 

‘Aye, I’ll do that.’ Dagmar walked off. 

Geralt and Jaskier followed as Marlena shuffled back into the house, the sound of sizzling meat reaching Jaskier’s ears. It was a rather cosy home, the door opened up into a main living area - where Marlena was currently cooking - with a room on either side of the house. Not too big by any standards, but it had a homely feeling to it - discarded toys on the table, shelves stacked with books, chests of belongings, jars of ingredients and herbs - all of which Geralt immediately set to _pilfering_ , much to Jaskier’s horror. 

‘Geralt!’ He hissed, trying to keep his voice low. He smacked the witcher on the head. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’

‘Ow.’ Geralt grimaced, letting go of a jug of water. He looked up from the sack he was rummaging through. There was a look of mild confusion on his face, as if the answer was obvious. ‘I’m getting supplies.’ 

‘Get- getting _supplies_ !?’ Jaskier spluttered, struggling to keep his composure. ‘Asking to get your arse kicked, more like! This is _stealing_ , Geralt, not _getting supplies_ \- oi, stop that!’ He slapped Geralt’s hand away from the water again. 

‘It’s fine, Jaskier, they’re okay with it-’

‘Who the fuck is okay with someone barging into their home and stealing all their shit?!’ 

‘A lot of people are, actually-’

Marlena’s voice piped up from behind them just then. Jaskier froze like a deer in the headlights, thinking that they had been caught. 

‘You boys staying for dinner? Da caught enough fish this morning to feed the whole damn village.’ She was cutting vegetables on a counter next to the stove, her back still turned to them. 

He let out a sigh of relief. _Not caught, then._

‘Thanks for the offer, but we have to be gone by nightfall.’ Geralt replied. 

‘That’s a shame, but eh, more food for me!’ 

Jaskier was about to drag Geralt out by the ear for a quick lecture on the moralities of stealing when the slimy bastard approached Marlena and made conversation with her. 

‘I hear your wounds healed over.’ Geralt stood next to her, looking at a shelf of ingredients right above the counter. Jaskier narrowed his eyes. _What was he planning?_

‘Oh, they did. I’m left with this now,’ she lifted her arm, revealing a long jagged scar on her forearm.

Geralt looked down at it with a slight frown. ‘You don’t seem too bothered about it.’ He leaned over and picked up a large jar from the shelf. 

‘Hah!’ She laughed. ‘Bothered by this thing? What for? I think it adds character.’ He reached inside the jar. 

‘Well, that’s one way of putting it.’ Pulled out a honeycomb.

He turned to Jaskier and met his eyes. 

And very slowly, with exaggerated movements- 

Slipped the whole _fucking_ jar into his pocket with one hand, bit down on the honeycomb with the other, chewed, swallowed, and _licked_ his damn lips, all in plain view of Marlena, a smug grin on his face.

Jaskier gasped in outrage. _That motherfucker-_

He shot Geralt the hardest glare he could muster, breaking eye contact to chance a glance at Marlena. _Surely she would’ve seen something? Geralt was right next to her!_

She turned to the witcher. ‘Geralt,’ she said.

Geralt froze. His gaze snapped to her in surprise. 

Jaskier’s eyes widened. _She saw it._

Time seemed to slow down as the both of them stared. 

_Please kick his ass, please kick his ass, please kick his ass-_

‘Could you pass me the pepper?’

_Ah._

Jaskier scowled. Geralt grinned. It was absolutely infuriating. 

_Fuck you_ , Jaskier mouthed, as Geralt, the fucking show-off, reached for the shelf behind him, still smirking at Jaskier, grabbed the pepper and handed it to Marlena, all without breaking eye contact. 

‘Thank you,’ Marlena said, completely unaware of everything happening behind her. 

‘You’re welcome,’ Geralt said, and then _winked_ at Jaskier. 

That little stunt did nothing but make him bolder, for afterwards Geralt started looting in total abandon - he stole cutlery and teapots and plates from cabinets, swiped bottle after bottle of dwarven spirit and alcohest, stuffed volumes of books Jaskier was very sure he already had into his jacket, opened chests of personal belongings in their bedroom, emptied silver necklaces and emerald rings into his pocket- it was extremely horrifying, in short, the utter shamelessness in which the witcher went about with his theft.

Even worse was the fact that the residents of the house did absolutely nothing to stop him. Marlena seemed not to notice the disappearance of items from the shelf and the loss of ingredients from the counter. She continued cooking and chatting with ease, totally oblivious to the fact that she was currently being robbed of every single possession by the person she was so happily conversing with, who did not even bother being stealthy. 

Dagmar entered the house minutes later with a small girl in tow - similarly freckled with a mop of tousled brown hair - and opened the door to an extremely busy Geralt in the midst of appropriating their _entire stock_ of alcohol. Neither of the pair seemed to even notice or acknowledge this brazen act of thievery - the only reaction was a ‘Gewalt!’ by the little girl and a solemn nod in return on the witcher’s part. Jaskier alternated between pulling his hair and slapping his hand on his forehead at the sheer ignorance of the inhabitants and the ridiculousness of the situation. 

Geralt had invaded their bedrooms afterwards and openly ransacked their chests for jewellery and coin. Even that wasn’t enough to garner a reaction of appropriate outrage when one was being very thoroughly robbed by a witcher who walked around their home as if he owned it. The closest someone got to stopping Geralt’s thievery was when Aniela procured a stick and didn’t stop swatting at Geralt until he extinguished and ignited every candle in the house at least once. It was only temporary, for Geralt resumed his looting of the house after, but Jaskier thought it was a pretty effective method. He made a mental note to try it sometime in the future. 

Geralt soon finished his plunder of the house, somehow managing to fit his entire loot in his pockets. They said their farewells - the shameless fucker did not seem to have an ounce of guilt in him as he waved his friends goodbye, and Jaskier mentally cringed as they asked him to _visit again_. Jaskier was painfully aware of the bare shelves and empty chests - considering how in-depth Geralt had been when searching and robbing the house, he was surprised that the bastard didn’t make off with their beds and furniture too. They were bulky, yes, but Jaskier was very sure that Geralt would’ve come up with a way to fit them in his pocket. 

~

‘... Is this really necessary?’ Jaskier asked later as they were camped in the forest, having managed a few hours of travel from the village. 

‘Yes.’ 

Jaskier pursed his lips, the light from the campfire flickering across his face. ‘I really don’t want to ask, but,’ he threw both hands in the air. ‘ _Why?_ ’ 

‘Because,’ said Geralt as he emptied his pockets out onto the patch of grass in front of him. ‘I need to sort my inventory.’ 

‘ _Sort your inventory._ ’ 

‘Yes, _Jaskier_ ,’ Geralt replied with a patience that bordered on sarcasm. ‘That is exactly what I said.’ He grabbed something from his pocket and took it out. Four iron ores tumbled heavily onto the pile on the floor. 

‘So,’ Jaskier crossed his arms across his chest and furrowed his brow. ‘Are you ever going to tell me how you manage to fit all that on you?’ A random assortment of items lay messily on the ground where the witcher was sitting - some apples, a bowl of pepper, a nightlamp, two half-used candles, four bottle caps, a bunch of wooden spoons, seven broken rakes in various states of damage, a fucking _casket_ , - just a fraction of the massive heap that was the witcher’s haul of the day. ‘Why do you even need so many fucking broken rakes? And what the fuck is up with the casket?’ Jaskier screeched in bewilderment. 

Geralt calmly and methodically picked out the broken rakes and set them aside in a neat pile. ‘I need them because.’

‘Because?!’

‘Because.’ Geralt took one of the wooden spoons and ate the pepper straight from the bowl. His eyebrows shot up in pleasant surprise. ‘Oh, that’s good.’ He scooped up another spoonful of pepper.

Jaskier placed a hand to his forehead. ‘Holy fuck.’ _It’s like the butter all over again._

‘You should try-’

‘No.’ He stepped back and raised a finger in warning. 

Geralt shrugged. ‘Your loss,’ he said, and then finished the whole bowl. He gingerly placed the spoon and empty bowl next to a small stack of cutlery. He took a moment to look over his loot. ‘Hmm,’ he frowned. ‘I need to clear out some space. I don’t think the casket can fit in my pocket-’

_‘No shit.’_

‘I might have to store it on Roach.’ Geralt stroked his chin. ‘Do you think it can fit?’ 

Jaskier raised his eyebrows. ‘You're asking me?’ 

‘Of course not, I’m asking the trees.’

Jaskier snorted humorlessly. He looked at the casket, big enough for a grown man to lie in. He looked at Roach’s saddlebags, big enough for maybe three or four apples. ‘Sure. Why not.’ 

Geralt nodded solemnly. ‘I thought so too.’

A moment of madness must have descended upon Jaskier, for he later found himself settled opposite Geralt, helping to sort through the huge stack of loot, without any recollection of how that came to be.

‘You have way too many pelts,’ Jaskier fished out some bear hides. He added it to the growing pile of furs. ‘Melitele’s tits, Geralt. How many fucking animals do you kill? There's more than enough for you to set up a shop. Maybe you should retire from witchering. Set up a business.’

‘Witchers never retire,’ grumbled Geralt in his signature witcher broodiness.

‘Isn’t this like, cannibalism or something?’ He held up a piece of hide from a white wolf.

‘Keep talking and I’ll show you cannibalism.’

‘Yeah you do that - see if you can find someone else who would help you sort through this pile of fucking loot.’ Jaskier scowled. ‘All the shit I do for him, and the fucker doesn’t even know how to be grateful! What does he do instead? Threaten to _eat_ me!’’ 

‘There are many ways I could _eat you up_.’ Geralt waggled his eyebrows.

‘Oh shut it, you old perv. That’s not going to work on me this time.’

Geralt gave an exaggerated sigh. He tilted his head skyward. ‘Why must the world be so cruel?’ 

‘And you say that I’m the dramatic one.’ Jaskier shook his head. 

‘What, a man can’t wallow in his misery without being called dramatic? Also, I found another lute.’

Jaskier’s eyes lit up at that. ‘Oooh gimmie.’ He gave the lute a few strums. ‘Hmm, not bad, not bad. Decent woodwork... Very resonant sound…. Out of all you’ve found?’ He paused in thought. ‘I’d easily put it in the top five.’ 

‘Heh.’ There was a self-satisfied smirk on Geralt’s face. ‘Got that from the baron’s house.’

‘.....I take it that he didn’t gift it to you out of goodwill?’

‘You’ll be surprised at the generosity of some folk.’ 

‘Riiiiight. Sure. Did you get these from the baron too?’ He lifted a pair of silver pantaloons. They were made of silk, really nice and soft to touch. 

‘Can’t remember. I have like, ten of those. Exactly the same. Seems like everyone in the continent has the same tailor.’ 

Jaskier picked up a doll from the edge of the loot pile. ‘And which crying child did you steal this from?’

Geralt frowned. ‘I got that from an abandoned house. I don’t steal from children.’

‘Yeah but you steal from their parents. Not much of a difference really.’ 

‘It’s not stealing if they’re okay with it.’

‘You see,’ Jaskier turned to Geralt. _‘That_ is what I don’t get. Why are they okay with you stealing? They act like they can’t even see you!’ 

‘Maybe they really can’t see me.’ He shrugged. He extracted a tangled fishing net from the heap. ‘Maybe they don’t know how to react. Or maybe they’re okay with me taking their shit. It’s been like that my whole life. Not about to question it now, when it gets me all of this,’ he gestured to the mound of items in front of him. 

Jaskier clicked his tongue. ‘You thieving bastard. All that talk about _'morality_ ' and _'choosing the lesser evil',_ and here you go running around robbing peasants blind!’ I don’t-’ Jaskier paused. ‘Please don’t tell me that’s a human skull.’ 

‘This?’ Geralt held up a cracked skull. ‘Got it at the catacombs the other day. Seven wraiths showed up right after and wouldn’t stop fucking shrieking at me. I hate wraiths.’ 

‘I mean,’ he raised a brow. ‘If I died and a witcher strolled right into my tomb just to steal all my shit, including my fucking _bones_ , I would do that too.’ He pulled out a dozen or so bottles of Dwarven spirit and put them aside, the glass bottles clinking noisily together. ‘You really should consider setting up a shop, you know. You have enough shit on you to cater to the whole of Temeria and Redania combined.’ 

‘No thanks,’ the witcher grunted. 

‘Oh right! I forgot. You’d rather steal coin from people, wouldn't you?’ 

‘Ha ha, very funny.’ 

A packet of white powder caught Jaskier’s eye. ‘Oh my god. Geralt.’

‘Mm?’ 

Jaskier grabbed the packet, squinting at it. It was _really_ big and heavy. ‘Is this _Fisstech_?’ He gasped. ‘It is! The fuck man? Why do you have so much?’ 

Geralt glanced at the item in Jaskier’s hands. ‘It sells well.’ He bit into an apple with a loud crunch. 

Jaskier choked. ‘S-Sells well?? These are _drugs_ , man! Where the fuck did you even get so much? My god.’

‘Hmm. Here and there,’ he gestured vaguely. 

Jaskier narrowed his eyes in suspicion. ‘Sometimes, I don't know why I still follow you around.’

‘Simple.’ Geralt leaned back on his hands, looking smug. ‘You love me.’ 

Jaskier gave an exasperated sigh. ‘You are absolutely infuriating, you know that?’

‘So I’ve heard.’ He was still grinning.

‘Stop looking so smug, you bastard.’ Jaskier grabbed a broken rake and threw it at Geralt. The witcher caught it effortlessly with one hand. _Of course_. 

‘I swear to god, I will _really_ stab you one day, Geralt of Rivia.’

‘Well bring it on then, _Julian of Lettenhove_.’ 

‘Oh _fuck you_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of my dumb headcanons:  
> \- geralt gives all the lutes he finds to jaskier, who now has this huge ass collection. he likes to rank them from best to worst.  
> \- geralts inventory is a haphazard mess of items. he has to manually sort it out into smaller groups each time.  
> \- by now geralt has barged into the homes of so many strangers so many times that they are all used to it. he is on friendly relations with them all. he knows their names, their kids names, their parents names, their life stories and what they had for breakfast earlier that morning. he also knows where they hide all their belongings.
> 
> other random thoughts:  
> \- i love w3 but i kinda miss the fantasy vibe in the second game. i love flotsam and loc muinne  
> \- i initially wanted the conversation between marlena and geralt to be longer but i got stuck so i decided to just cut that whole part out  
> \- i realized after writing this that the caskets in the game are actually mini caskets and not full sized caskets, which kind of makes more sense. i apologize for the dumbassery.
> 
> also thank u guys so much for the support! <3 ive gotten a ton of great ideas from you guys,, (i have a whole ass list and im trying to make my way through them i swear) but please keep them coming! they've been really helpful - im not a fast writer and i dont really plan before i write (other than the main idea) but your comments/feedback make it easier for me to write this bullshit of a story (even if its just u yelling at the dumb bastard that is geralt) so yes thank u!


	7. The Glitcher: Wild Pun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt manifests some new abilities, Roach kicks some ass, and Jaskier tries not to get a heart attack. Just a normal day, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> F E R A L G E R A S K I E R R I G H T S  
> yes my jaskier is feral which means that he would fight anyone and anything, INCLUDING geralt. ESPECIALLY geralt. that being said theres also some ~feels~ in this one. i love me some feral tenderness.  
> also i can’t believe its been a month since the last chapter. sorry for being such a slow writer, im trying i swear :(

Jaskier was going to die. 

To be fair, ‘almost dying’ was a rather common occurrence when travelling with the chaotic dumbass of a witcher that was Geralt, whose time was spent alternating between slaying monsters and finding different ways to give Jaskier a heart attack. 

_What was the worst fight you’ve ever been in? Have you ever come close to death?_ People would ask, and Jaskier would reply, with a sombre look, _the fight for my sanity, and yes, many times._ Shocked gasps would echo around, _mind control_ , children would whisper, an awed look on their faces, _I heard harpies and sirens could make you lose your mind_ someone would say, _nonono vampires are the ones you should look out for-,_ and the crowd would go on throwing out myths and rumours, trying to guess the identity of the feared beast. Jaskier would encourage these, of course, conjure up some epic battle with exaggerated details, hint at the prowess and viciousness of the beast but never revealing the identity, leaving them to their wild guesses and imaginations, while unbeknownst to the crowd, the monster _,_ the _real monster_ in Jaskier’s story sat but a few paces behind them in a shadowy corner, a hint of amusement in golden eyes and a brow that lifted in disbelief, a look that Jaskier had come to interpret as, _really?_

‘Yes, _really_ ,’ Jaskier would later say, ‘The shit you get up to is extremely detrimental to my sanity.’

‘Well,’ Geralt would reply, shrugging indifferently. ‘Your sanity seems unchanged from the day we first met. Perhaps you’ve hit rock bottom.’ Here Jaskier would slap Geralt on the arm. 

Still, Jaskier liked to think after all these years that he’d seen everything, that he was used to it, that none of Geralt’s ridiculous antics could surprise him any more. He was pretty confident of that. 

Until Geralt fell.

Now, he’s seen Geralt fall lots of times - down stairs, ladders, ledges, balconies, railings, trees, cliffs, mountains, caves - anything that’s located above ground level? Fat chance that Geralt has fallen from that. Geralt fell a lot, to put it bluntly. The man had bad luck with heights. Jaskier used to joke that Geralt had hit his head on the floor so many times that it’s now an entirely new shape from when he was born. 

The words ‘clumsy’ and ‘witcher’ do not go together - because, you know, for obvious, practical monster hunting reasons - but Geralt’s clumsiness and bad luck were at least an explanation for him tripping and falling all the time. 

But this? 

Falling through the _ground?_

Jaskier could not think of an explanation for that. 

~

The first time it happened, they were in the midst of a fight. Not with bandits, or monsters, no. With _each other._ Their journey started cordially enough. They were travelling on the road, both on foot, electing to give Roach a 'well-deserved break', although Jaskier didn’t think that the weight of the two of them combined could compare to the twelve sets of armour, twenty nine swords and five caskets - two silver and three gold, the distinction was important, according to Geralt - stored in Roach’s saddlebags. The three of them walked side by side, Geralt in the middle, holding Roach’s reins to the left. 

The weather was perfect - birds were flitting about the trees, the sky a vibrant shade of blue, the fresh scent of flora and fauna in the air - it was a rather pleasant walk.

And then Geralt had to be an asshole. 

‘So,’ Jaskier said. ‘I was thinking-’

Geralt snorted. ‘That’s a first from you.’ 

‘Oh shut up! You say that every time.’

‘Your brain must be rusty from years of disuse. How’s it feel like, using it again?'

'Do you really-'

'Come on, bard. _Three words or less.’_

Jaskier turned to glare. ‘I _will_ fuck you up.’ 

‘That’s five words, Jaskier.’ Geralt turned to him, a sly smile on his face. ‘I thought professors could count.’

Jaskier gasped in indignation. Most insults he could handle, but this? Coming from _this_ fucking witcher? He was not going to let that slide. ‘Oh _that’s it,_ you _fucker-’_ He lunged forward in a swift motion and hooked his arm around Geralt’s neck, using all his body weight to slam Geralt to the ground. There was a dull thud as Geralt crashed on the hard earth, the breath punched out of his body. He grunted at the impact, eyes widening for a split second before smirking again. 

‘Oh,’ the witcher purred, a low, baritone rumble. ‘Very nice, _professor.’_

He kicked out Jaskier’s legs from under him, faster than Jaskier could react. Jaskier stumbled backwards, landing on his ass with a yelp as Geralt got up on his feet. Jaskier shuffled back as fast as he could, hands pressing into dirt as Geralt stalked towards him, a predatory glint in his eyes. Jaskier’s fingers caught on a stone. Without thinking he grabbed it and hurled it at Geralt, hitting his stomach with an audible thump. Geralt paused. ‘Any lower and that would’ve gone really badly.’ 

Jaskier shrugged. 'You would’ve deserved it.’ 

He jumped back on his feet and the two men circled each other, tension taut in the air. Out of the corner of his eye Jaskier could see Roach a safe distance away, munching contentedly on some grass as if her two owners weren’t busy trying to beat the shit out of each other. _At least she’s enjoying herself._

Tired of waiting, Jaskier rushed forward and aimed a punch to his face. Geralt easily blocked it, swatting his hand away and sending a counter punch of his own. Jaskier dodged and punched his midsection, followed by an uppercut to the jaw. Geralt took a step back from the blow but lashed out with his leg, kicking Jaskier solidly in his abdomen. 'Oof.'

‘I thought you were gonna fuck me up?' Geralt smirked, wiping a bit of blood from his mouth. 

‘Oh I will, _darling.’_ Jaskier hummed, slightly winded from the blow. He winked. ‘I’ll give you a pounding you’ll never forget.’

Geralt raised a brow. ‘Someone’s confident. But I do love a challenge.’ He lowered his voice, a wicked glint in his eyes. ‘Let’s see who gets pounded, shall we?’ 

Jaskier launched himself at Geralt, the both of them crashing to the floor. They rolled about the dirt in a rough scuffle, twigs and stones digging into Jaskier’s back. He couldn’t even be bothered about dirtying his doublet, it was rather worn, anyway. He’d get a new one when they were in town. 

Geralt, being bulkier, gained the upper hand and pinned Jaskier to the ground, straddling his hips. ‘Caught you,’ he growled, looming over Jaskier. 

‘Ah hello, Geralt.’ Jaskier battered his eyelashes. ‘Enjoying the view?’ 

Geralt’s eyes raked over his body. ‘Mhmm.’ Loose strands of hair fell over his face like a curtain.

Jaskier let out a breathless laugh. ‘I think I enjoy it too. You _do_ look rather dashing like this...’ He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear. ‘But alas,’ he smirked. ‘I’m afraid I have to cut your enjoyment short.’ 

He planted his right foot in the ground and twisted his hips, flipping them around in a swift motion, startling Geralt. Jaskier let out a small sound of victory as he rolled on top of the witcher, coming face to face with - the ground. 

Jaskier blinked. _The hell?_

He scrambled back up and whipped his head around. Geralt was gone. ‘Geralt?’ He leaned forward and patted the ground in front of him. It was solid. ‘Geralt! Where the _fuck_ did you go?’ 

‘Ah fuck, not again’ Geralt’s muffled voice came from below him. Jaskier watched incredulously as the top of Geralt’s head popped up in the dirt, a small shock of white amongst brown earth. 

‘Geralt? Is that you?’ Jaskier poked his head. 

‘Stop poking me.’ 

‘The hell just happened, man? One moment you were here and the next you were gone! The fuck? Are you in the ground?’ 

Geralt gave a big sigh. ‘Fell through the world. It happens, sometimes. Need to find some water so I can swim back up.’ Jaskier jumped backwards with a startled yelp as Geralt’s head started gliding along the ground as if there weren’t any obstructions. 

‘Oh my god, what the _fuck.’_

‘Stop swearing and find me a lake or something. I don’t wanna be stuck down here any longer.’ Geralt’s irritable voice floated up.

‘Uh, okay. Right.’ Jaskier stood up and looked around. ‘There’s a pond not far from here. Turn left.’ 

Geralt’s head shot off in the opposite direction.

‘No! Your other left!’ 

Geralt paused and turned around. ‘Do you not know directions?' 

'Do I-' Jaskier sputtered. 'I _do_ know my directions, thank you very much. The pond was on my left, so I said left! How the fuck am I supposed to know which way you're facing? All I can see is a patch of white!' 

'Alright, alright, _professor._ Please calm down. You are very smart.'

‘Why does that sound like an insult?’

‘You tell me.’ 

The two of them walked towards the pond, Jaskier giving the occasional direction. He stared at the top of Geralt’s head, casually passing through earth and rocks and bushes, probably one of the most absurd things he's ever seen in his life. 'How are you walking through the ground? Can you feel the stones and plants and roots on your head?' 

‘I don’t know how it works, but it’s actually empty down here. And no, I can’t feel them.’

‘Empty??' Jaskier furrowed his brows. 'That can’t be right.’ 

‘I’d show you if I could, but it’s not a very comfortable experience.’ 

‘I can imagine.’ 

Roach had appeared next to them at some point, walking alongside the pair. The mare trotted up to Geralt and started prodding the top of his head with her hooves. 

‘Is that Roach?’ Asked Geralt from the ground. 

An affirmative neigh. 

‘Roach, stop.’ 

A gleeful neigh, this time. She did not stop. 

They walked for several more minutes before Jaskier spoke up. ‘The pond’s right up ahead.’ 

Geralt immediately shot off in that direction. Jaskier watched as Geralt’s form materialized in the pond, the witcher swimming up to the surface and heaving in a huge breath. ‘Urgh. Finally.’ 

‘Welcome back.’ 

Geralt grunted in reply. He lifted himself out of the pond and shook the water off himself in a rather wolfish manner, water droplets flying everywhere. 

Jaskier raised an amused eyebrow. ‘You know, you actually might be more wolf than man.’ 

Geralt shot Jaskier an annoyed look as he wringed the excess water out of his hair. ‘Don’t make me bite you.’ He said testily. 

Jaskier bared his teeth in a smile. ‘Your fangs don’t scare me, darling.’ 

Geralt growled.

Jaskier only laughed and growled back. 

_~_

Barely a few days passed before the second incident happened. Jaskier thought that he was rather prepared for another showing of Geralt’s world glitching abilities - he’d seen the man fall through the ground and reappear in a pond, it probably couldn’t get more ridiculous than that, right? 

That assumption, of course, turned out to be wrong. 

‘The fuck are you doing?’ Jaskier stared at the sight in front of him. 

A grunt. ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’

‘Being a goddamn idiot.’ 

Geralt scoffed. ‘This coming from you?’ 

‘Excuse me?’

‘I said, _this coming from you?’_

‘Yes I heard that the first time, you prick.’ Jaskier snapped. 

‘Oh good, your ears seem to be working. Got me worried for a second there.'

‘I’m sorry,’ Jaskier clasped a hand to his chest, offended. ‘But I just don’t think you should be worried about _me_ when you’re three stories up in the air, doing god knows what!’ 

_‘Doing god knows what_ is getting a good view of the city,’ Geralt heaved himself up on a window ledge. A really thin, window ledge. 

‘Is this even necessary? Need I remind you of what happened the last time you climbed something? You almost _died!_ And it wasn’t even as high as this! Can’t you find a ladder? Or use a map like a normal, sane person?!’ 

‘It’s fine, Jaskier.’ Jaskier watched in horror as Geralt sprinted along the edge of a balcony and _leaped,_ barely managing to catch onto a horizontal flag pole mounted on the wall. Even at this distance, Jaskier could very clearly hear the metal creaking loudly under his weight. 

‘Oh my god, it’s not fine, get the fuck down!’ Jaskier looked around wildly for something soft to cushion Geralt's incoming fall. Alas, there was nothing. He quickly set his lute down by the side of the building and positioned himself below Geralt, preparing to catch that hollow brain of an idiot if he fell. _Motherfucker keeps adding unnecessary stress to my life, I swear to god._

'Just… a little bit more…' Geralt pulled himself up on the pole and stood on it, somehow managing to balance on the thin beam of metal. He turned to face the wall, and Jaskier's heart fell as Geralt’s left foot totally slipped off the pole and met air. 

Time seemed to slow as Jaskier lurched forward with a startled shout, arms outstretched to catch Geralt. Instead of toppling over, however, Geralt stayed perfectly balanced with only his right foot on the pole, his left foot hovering in the air as if there was an invisible platform he was stepping on. _What the fuck???_

Geralt turned around, having heard his shout, and frowned at him in concern. ‘You okay, Jask?’ The idiot, of course, couldn’t just turn his head - he turned his whole fucking body towards Jaskier. He wasn’t even standing on the pole anymore - both his feet were floating in the air, his left heel barely touching the metal. Jaskier was very sure the laws of physics didn’t work that way - but there Geralt was, miraculously suspended in the air, one step from plunging to his death, and he had the gall to ask Jaskier if _he_ was okay???

Jaskier couldn’t even formulate a proper response. His face scrunched up in extreme bewilderment as he gestured up at Geralt with both hands, a wordless language that said, _what the fuck?_

Geralt shot him a confused look, as if Jaskier’s hand gestures were more confusing than his own gravity defying stunts. _Bitch,_ Jaskier thought, _I should be the confused one! Don’t give me that look._

Having heard no answer Geralt turned around and continued his ascent to the top. It was the final step, there was no hesitation as he jumped - _jumped,_ five stories up in the air, the fucking madman - and barely grasped onto the edge of the roof. He hung there for a moment before pulling himself up with a grunt of exertion. 

Jaskier gawked as Geralt vanished briefly, his form passing through the roof as he clambered up. His head and torso appeared a second later as he stood, his lower body disappearing through the red ceramic tiles as if they weren’t there. 

Geralt let out a low whistle of appreciation as he looked into the distance, shielding his face from the glare of the setting sun, seemingly unperturbed by the absence of his lower body. ‘Damn, that’s a nice view. You should come see this, Jask.’ 

‘Geralt,’ Jaskier called, pained. ‘What is happening?’ 

‘Nothing much, the town’s pretty quiet right now. I can see the harbour from here-’ 

‘No, I mean,’ Jaskier paused, trying to find the right words. ‘Half your body is gone! You’re standing _in_ the roof.’ 

‘What?’ Geralt looked down at himself. ‘Oh. It’s normal, don’t worry. Harmless.’ As if to prove his point, he started walking all over - it looked rather comical from Jaskier’s point of view, Geralt’s upper body the only thing visible, casually sticking out the top. 

'....Is the roof an illusion or something?' 

‘Nah, it’s real. Wait, let me-’ Geralt walked over to the lowest portion of the roof and _jumped._ He landed on the roof this time, his feet finding purchase on the ceramic tiles. ‘See?’ The tiles clacked as he rapped his boots on them. ‘Solid.’ 

Jaskier did not see. ‘Right, very solid.’ He plopped down at the side of the street, leaning against the signpost, resting his tired legs. ‘I’ll be here when you’re done with… whatever you’re doing.’ 

‘Give me a few minutes, I need to take a couple of screenshots.’

Jaskier had no idea what those were. ‘Mhmm. Sure. Screenshots. Very important.’ 

Jaskier didn’t know exactly how long Geralt took, but it was definitely more than ‘a few minutes’. The sun had already set by the time Geralt was done. Jaskier was glad that this side of the town was abandoned - he didn’t know how he was going to come up with an explanation for a witcher who did nothing but walk around the roof and stare into the distance for an hour. 

‘I’m coming down.’ Geralt announced. 

‘I would normally say _please be careful_ and _don’t fall,_ but I know by now that you’re probably going to hurl yourself down anyway, so I will instead say that I have your last five grilled chicken sandwiches at the ready for your consumption should you accidentally fling yourself to death’s door, which, let’s be honest, is definitely going to happen.’ 

That earned a chuckle from the witcher. ‘You know me so well.’ 

And then he leaped off the roof.

It happened in a split second. One moment Geralt was there - dropping five stories, four, three, two, one - and the next moment - _poof,_ gone. 

Jaskier gasped as Geralt fell into the ground and vanished underneath the concrete, shouting in surprise as his body passed through the floor. _Oh my god, not again._ He rushed forward to the spot where Geralt disappeared - he could still hear him, but his voice was growing softer as if he was getting further and further. 

‘Geralt!! Are you okay??’

Seconds passed. 

No answer.

‘I know you can hear me!’

Still no answer.

_Fuck._

‘Geralt??’ Jaskier looked around wildly, eyes sweeping the floor for a hint of white hair. Nothing. 

‘This isn’t funny! You better not be dead or I’ll fucking kill you!’ 

Silence. 

Jaskier was starting to panic. _Did that idiot actually fucking die?? Holy fuck -_

He got onto his hands and knees and started crawling around, searching for any sign of Geralt and banging his fist on the stone floor as if that could make Geralt hear him. His head was swimming with thoughts - what if Geralt was stuck and couldn’t get back up? What if he fell to the center of the earth? What if he was buried alive?? What if he was already dead?? His grim thoughts did nothing but made him more anxious.

Jaskier grew more distressed with each minute of fruitless searching. ‘Roach!’ He called, slightly hysterical. ‘Come here and help me find your owner.’ The mare trotted over to him and started nosing at his doublet. ‘No, not me, find Geralt!’ 

She snorted dismissively. 

‘I know dear, he can be a prick at times, but _please,_ he could be stuck, or dying or- or dead and-’ 

‘I’m not dead.’ 

Jaskier’s head whipped around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Standing next to the signpost, was Geralt, perfectly alive, looking right at him. Jaskier stared dumbly at him for a few moments before scrambling up and running over to the witcher, throwing his arms around him in a hug. ‘Geralt!’ He cried. ‘I- I thought you died.’ He buried his face in Geralt’s neck.

He felt Geralt stiffen before two strong arms wrapped around him, pulling him close. ‘Oh. Shit, I’m sorry, I-’ He sighed. ‘It’s alright, Jask. I’m fine.’ He stroked his back soothingly, gently rocking them back and forth. 

Jaskier sniffed. ‘What happened?’ 

‘I fell through the world, reached the world’s edge and fast travelled away.’ 

‘What? Fast travelled?’ 

‘Mhmm. I, uh, got this for you, actually.’ 

Geralt slowly pulled back and handed him a brown package.

‘What’s this?’ Jaskier carefully unwrapped the packaging. Inside lay a doublet of maroon velvet. A winding pattern of flowers adorned the chest, stitched in gold thread that gleamed in the moonlight. A row of buttons ran down the center, the metal polished and shined to perfection. The slashed sleeves, a slightly brighter shade of red, were lined with gold and cuffed at the end, decorated in honey colored ribbons of silk. It was beautiful. ‘Wow… I- You got this for me?’ He ran his fingers over it, delighting in the feel of soft fabric.

‘Your doublet got ruined in the small scuffle we had days earlier and you hadn't got it replaced yet so...’ Geralt scratched the back of his head sheepishly. ‘I dropped by the tailor in Beauclair to get this. I know it isn't what you usually wear but-'

Jaskier shushed him with a finger to his lips. 'It will be, now. Thank you, love. It looks gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous.' He gave Geralt an affectionate peck on the cheek. 'I- I appreciate it.’

'You're welcome.' Jaskier thought he saw a slight flush to Geralt's face. 

He shrugged off his worn doublet, Geralt stepping back to give him space to change. 'Wait,' Jaskier paused. 'You said you fast travelled to Beuclair? It's a teleportation of sorts?'

Geralt nodded.

‘Is that something you could do again? Can you fast travel anywhere?’

‘As long there’s a signpost, yeah.’ 

Jaskier pursed his lips in thought. 'Would it be possible for you to, ah, do a bit of restocking? I think we finished the last bottle of Fiorano a month back - I've been craving it for a while.' 

'Hmm. I could do that. Fifteen bottles enough?'

'Heh. More than enough, darling.' 

'Alright. Anything else?' 

'Well,' Jaskier stroked his chin. 'Now that you’ve asked… Could you perhaps stop by the inn on the bridge? What was it called again- the- ah! The Cockatrice Inn, yes, yes. Their crayfish chowder is to die for. Have you tried it? You should, I know you'll love it. They serve really good chicken liver pâté too. Also, it’s been a while since I’ve had some desert, could you get me some chocolate soufflé, please? And oh, berries! I hear they're in season this time of the year. There's a fruit store by the market at the port. It's run by Agata, a rather lovely woman, she's such a delight to talk to and she's always giving me discounts.' 

Geralt raised a brow. 'Anything else, _my liege?_ A barrel of _Sangreal,_ the Duchess herself?' 

Jaskier cleared his throat and raised his chin, adopting an authoritative tone. ‘That would do. For now.’ 

'As you wish, _my lord.'_ Geralt dipped his head in an approximation of a bow, his left arm awkwardly extended as he placed his right on his chest. Jaskier couldn't help but laugh.

‘My god. Years later, and you still can’t bow.’

‘I call it being consistent.’

‘Uh huh. You continue telling yourself that.’ 

'Mhmm. Find a building you like and make camp. They're all empty, it should be safe. Otherwise - well, you can handle it. Probably. Make sure Roach doesn't get hurt. I'll be back in a few minutes.' 

'Alright, alright. Go on then,' Jaskier shooed him away. 'Don't want to keep your lord waiting, do you?' 

Geralt sighed. 'Yes, yes. I'll be taking my leave now and all that.' He turned to the signpost and vanished in a blink of an eye.

_That's convenient._ Jaskier didn't know how it worked - it was instantaneous, and unlike teleportation, there was no portal. Perhaps it was a different kind of magic? Either way he wasn't going to question it too much - it was going to get him his Fiorano, after all.

He picked up his lute from the floor and led Roach to a building in the center of the abandoned street, the sign of which had previously caught his eye. He retrieved his sword from her saddlebags and fed her a sugar cube, running a hand down her flank. 'I'll be upstairs, okay? If anything or anyone appears, just kick them in the nuts. Always works. Neigh if you need me.' Roach snorted and bumped her head against his chest. 

Sword in hand, he cautiously pushed the door open and peeked inside. It was empty, the only furniture being some dusty chairs by the windows and a heavy wooden counter, behind which lay a door. A small flight of stairs led up to the second floor. 

Jaskier approached the door first. It led to a workshop - pieces of wood in various states, some half carved, some unpolished, and an assortment of work tools were strewn messily on tables. He let out a small whoop of excitement as he found a fully assembled lute amongst the clutter. _Ah, a fine addition to my collection!_ The lack of strings wasn’t a problem - he had some extras, he could try stringing it later. 

He crept up the second floor, this one filled with furniture, albeit a little dusty. It was some sort of living area - there was a huge bed, a bookshelf, a table, a chair, and a rather good view of the street below. Rummaging around, he found nothing of import. He fetched the lute from downstairs and sat on the bed, wiping it down with a cloth and inspecting its craftsmanship. The stairs creaked then, the sound of footsteps echoing in the silence before a gruff voice spoke up. 

'A luthier shop. Why am I not surprised.' 

Jaskier looked up. He opened his mouth in greeting, only to stop short as he took in Geralt’s appearance. 

Geralt gave a questioning look. 'Something wrong, _my lord?'_

'The fuck is up with your beard?' 

'What? What’s wrong?' Geralt reached for it self-consciously.

'Your beard wasn't this long five minutes ago.'

‘Oh.’ His hand dropped. ‘Yeah. Fast travel makes my beard grow.’

‘How does _that_ work?’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me.’

‘Does your beard grow longer the more you fast travel?’

‘Seems like it.’

‘Interesting,’ Jaskier stroked his chin in thought. ‘So you _could_ potentially just fast travel back and forth and your beard would keep growing… What’s the longest it’s been? Have you tried growing them out to your stomach like those old druids with pointy hats? 

‘Never tried that and never will.’ Geralt cut in with a firm wave of his hand. ‘Now, I’ve got the things you asked for.’

‘Aww come on! Don’t you find it fascinating? We could conduct a little experiment! A teensy weensy experiment. All you have to do is fast travel a couple of times - I presume it's rather simple and harmless yes? We’ll see how long your beard can grow, and shave it off to your desired length right after! No harm done.’

'No.'

‘Pleaseee.’

‘No.’

‘Geraaaalt.’ Jaskier pouted and blinked up at him through his lashes.

‘Arghhhh,’ Geralt groaned, his resolve wavering. A grand total of two seconds passed before he relented. ‘Alright, alright. But later, not now. Now we eat.’ He shook his head, muttering under his breath. ‘The things I do for you…’ 

‘Love you too,’ piped Jaskier, grinning smugly. Geralt was always never able to refuse him. 

Motioning for Jaskier to sit on the edge of the bed Geralt dragged the table in front of the bard, taking the chair for himself. Jaskier watched as he procured a silver candelabra and set it on the table, forearm flexing as he ignited it with a flourish. Jaskier propped his chin on his hand and sighed dreamily, watching as Geralt laid out the food he brought, the enticing aroma of food wafting in the air. 'I love candlelight dinners. They’re so romantic.'

Geralt hummed. 'I know you do.' 

They dug into the meal, Jaskier’s groans of delight bordering on indecent as he shoved down bite after bite.

‘Are you _that_ hungry?’ Geralt asked, looking both amused and concerned at the same time.

‘No, ids beehn-’ 

‘Swallow first, Jaskier. Don’t want you to choke.’

Jaskier chewed furiously before swallowing. ‘Sorry. It’s been ages since I had Toussaint food,’ he said, reaching for another piece of chicken liver pâté. ‘The good places are always crowded, and by the time I get a seat, they’re all sold out! You don’t know how many times I’ve visited that inn especially for their crayfish chowder, only for the innkeep to show me an empty pot.’ 

Geralt chuckled. ‘I’ve been there. Don’t worry, I stocked up.’ 

‘Thanks love,’ Jaskier sighed, placing his hand on top of Geralt’s. ‘I don’t know what I’ll do without you.’

‘Stare at an empty pot, probably.’ 

‘Ha ha. By the way, do you have enough inventory space for another lute?’ He motioned towards the instrument lying on the bed. ‘I found one downstairs. Pretty decent craftsmanship, although it’s missing some strings.’ 

‘Yeah. It can go on Roach. I have some extra strings on me now, do you need them?’ 

‘Nah, it’s fine. I still have some of my own.’ He uncorked another bottle of Fiorano, refilling both their empty goblets. ‘You know,’ he said, swirling the wine around. ‘I’m really glad you’re okay.’

‘Jaskier.’ Geralt spoke softly. ‘Look at me.’

Jaskier glanced up and met his eyes, glowing golden in the firelight. ‘You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine. Even if I get a serious injury, or break my neck, or fall under the ground, I’ll always come back. I’ll always find my way back to you.’ 

‘....You will?’ 

Geralt nodded.

‘Promise?’

Geralt sighed, a fond look in his eyes as he held his hand out towards Jaskier. ‘Pinky promise.’ 

‘Heh,’ Jaskier reached out with a smile, interlocking their little fingers together. ‘Pinky promise.’ 

_~_

A shout woke Jaskier the next morning.

He startled awake and scrambled out of bed, almost tripping in his haste to get up. He whipped his head around, disorientated, only to see Geralt vaulting off the bed and rolling down the stairs in an astonishing feat of acrobatics. Several more shouts rang in the quiet street, followed by the sound of stomping hooves. _Roach!_

Stumbling to his feet Jaskier bolted downstairs, rushing through the door. He was greeted with the sight of three figures on the ground, one currently being stomped on by a very, _very_ angry Roach. He winced at the crunch of broken bone, cringing as agonizing screams turned into wet gurgling and then silence. _Holy shit._

‘Roach.’ Geralt was there, slowly making his way forward. ‘Easy girl, easy.’ He kept his voice low and soothing, raising his hands in a placating manner. Roach threw her head back in agitation, aiming one last kick at the now mangled body before stepping back, tail swishing irritably. ‘It’s alright now.’ He stepped forward and ran a gentle hand down her flank, the mare visibly quieting.

'Is she okay?’ Jaskier approached, gingerly stepping around the bodies on the floor. They all had hoof marks on their groins. _Oof._ ‘What happened?’ 

Geralt walked around her, checking for injuries. ‘She’s fine. Bandits, probably. Idiots messed with the wrong horse.’ 

‘You did good, girl.’ Jaskier walked up to her and fed her a sugar cube, scratching her neck the way she liked it. ‘I see you followed my advice, eh?’ He grinned, leaning into her as she nuzzled against his chest. 

Geralt knelt down, inspecting the bodies. He picked up an axe, bits of dried blood on the steel. ‘Those men would’ve hurt her. It was a good thing she didn’t _rein_ it in.’ He extracted a grilled sandwich from the bloodied corpse and pocketed it.

Jaskier gagged. ‘Geralt! That is disgusting.’

‘Mind your own business.’

‘What is it with you and grilled chicken sandwiches?’

‘This,’ Geralt held up the sandwich, waving it a little. ‘Is grilled _cheese.’_

‘You say it like it makes a difference.’

‘It does.’

Jaskier held up his hands in surrender. ‘Fine, fine. Whatever you say.’ He turned to Roach, exasperated. ‘How do _you_ even deal with this man?’ If horses could shrug, Jaskier was very sure that Roach did just that. 

‘Alright, enough.’ Said Geralt. ‘We should go. Don’t wanna _stirrup_ any more trouble, or attract anyone else with an _unbridled_ penchant for theft.’ 

'Yeah, let’s-' Jaskier blinked. 'Hold up. Are- are you serious, Geralt?? _Horse puns??_ _Seriously??'_

Geralt turned to him, poker-faced. ‘Don't be _foalish,_ Jaskier.’

‘Oh my god.’

‘How does it feel, being _saddled_ with that knowledge?’ 

‘Geralt. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you are officially banned from saying anything for the next hour.’ 

‘That’s fine by me.’ He shrugged, unperturbed. ‘I’ve never been one to talk myself….. _horse.’_

_‘Fucking hell-’_

_~_

Geralt did _not_ shut up for the next hour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pros of traveling with geralt: personal courier service, candlelight dinners anywhere, anytime.  
> cons of traveling with geralt: daily near-death experiences, h o r s e p u n s
> 
> \- i love the idea of jaskier being both feral and buff!! i hc that jaskier and geralt have regular sparring sessions.  
> \- the screenshot thing was just me calling myself out tbh. my geralt is a full time photographer who dabbles in a bit of monster hunting from time to time.  
> \- I didn’t know if it was better for jaskier to go like ‘what the fuck dude’ when geralt reappeared but then i was like hey if someone suddenly passed through the ground in front of me and disappeared without a trace i would be scared shitless too so. he cries a little bit.  
> \- geralt and jaskier treat pinky promises very seriously. change my mind
> 
> im aware that some of you have not played the game so I decided to link some videos/pics for reference!  
> the pond thing was inspired by [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FlkVCfE3REA)  
> [PAKOUR](https://www.reddit.com/r/witcher/comments/hrq7rp/how_to_climb_beauclair_palace/)  
> [infinite falling](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WAmPQQIzlnM)  
> Jaskiers doublet is a mish mash of [this](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/444730531926658721/) and [Geralt’s elegant Beauclair doublet (which i LOVE!!)](https://witcher.gamepedia.com/Elegant_Beauclair_doublet)
> 
> thanks for reading! I'm getting rather busy with school, sadly, so updates might take longer :( i won't be abandoning this fic so fret not! i still have a lot ideas to explore. as always,, new ideas are always welcome (yes, puns and dad jokes u think geralt would say are absolutely AOK) so feel free to keep them coming!


	8. Premeditated Meditation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt meditates. Shit happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long awaited meditation chapter is finally here! I can’t believe it’s been 4 months since my last update… [hides face] this might be the dumbest chapter i’ve ever written buuuut I had a lot of fun writing it so hopefully it does make some of you laugh!!

“Geralt.”

“...”

“Geralt!”

“...”

“Oi!” Jaskier reached out to shake him.

“...” 

“Geralt of fucking Rivia I swear to god-”

“Told you, lad.” Jozef took a drag of his pipe, looking amused. “It won’t work. We’ve tried everything.” 

Jaskier looked at Geralt. His closed eyes, measured breathing. Relaxed posture. Totally oblivious to the rest of the world. He looked at the remaining customers left, five of them at the center of the tavern, loosely gathered around the meditating witcher, kneeling ever so peacefully in his chosen spot. Two sets of long tables and benches ran parallel to the wall on either side of him. Geralt blocked the only strip of space available for walking. _Why the fuck did he have to choose this spot?_ He imagined himself stabbing Geralt. “You’ve tried everything?” Jaskier asked darkly. 

_“Everything.”_ Lena replied gravely from behind the counter. A glass squeaked in her hand as she polished it with a cloth.

“Tried shouting in his face, like you did.” Tomas took a swig of his ale, his face cast in dark shadows as he lifted his mug to drink.

“Tried shaking him too.” Filip mimed strangling someone with his hands, almost falling off the bench with the force of it.

“Tried pouring ale on him. '' Zofia replied coolly, legs crossed as she leaned back against the table behind her. She casually reached out a hand to stabilize Filip.

“A whole damn barrel, too!” Aleksander slapped his thigh in excitement, the light from the fireplace dancing across his features. “Should’ve seen it, bard. We told her it was a bad idea, but she did it anyway, tipped the whole barrel over him as casually as if she were bathing her own child and not trying to drown a goddamn monster killer with ale.”

“He even didn’t react.” Zofia shook her head. “All that leather armour clinging to his skin, ale dripping off his swords, hair plastered to his head, and he didn’t move a muscle.” She frowned as if trying to solve the mystery that was Geralt. 

“We almost flooded the whole tavern,” Filip announced, grinning proudly. “It was amazing.”

“Yeah, and then I almost broke my back cleaning up with you lot.” Tomas grouched. 

“Stop complaining, will ya?” Aleksander nudged Tomas in the ribs. “A little exercise will do you good.” 

“Took us hours to clean up.” Josef shifted his weight to the other foot as he leaned against the wall. “Yet the witcher’s clothes seemed to dry up after a few seconds.” He cast Jaskier an inquisitive look. "Work of an enchantment, perhaps?" 

"Mhm. Absolutely." Jaskier nodded at the old man. "Anti-moisture enchantments. His armour is full of it. The witcher himself is an enchantment. The laws of science and logic never ever work on him." 

“You’re all paying for it, by the way.” Lena said, glasses clinking against one another as she picked up another one to polish. “That barrel cost two hundred crowns.” 

“Two hundred?! Oh come on, woman!” Filip groaned, standing up. He took a stumbling step forward and almost fell onto Aleksander on the opposite bench. “Not even a bit o’ discount for your good ol’ patrons? We even helped to mop it up!” 

“If we split the cost among the five of us it’s forty crowns each. I think it’s fair,” Jozef shrugged. “We did waste some rather good ale. Shipment from Mahakaman only comes in twice every year. It’s valuable. Not to mention you drank almost half of it.” He shot FIlip an accusatory look.

“Oh shut it, Jozef. You’re not helping. Why don’t you pay for me while you’re at it-”

“Everyone pays thirty.” Lena cut in. “Except you,” she pointed at Filip. “You pay _a hundred_ and thirty. A week of dish washing and floor mopping from you and I might consider lowering the cost. _Consider._ ”

Filip sputtered in indignation. _“A hundred_ and thirty?! Wha-”

“You still owe me eighty-four crowns in damages for that time you trashed the bar and beat five men senseless. That was three months back. I’m not even charging you the full price. _Discount,_ you said? That’s the discount you get.”

“B-but-”

“I know your wife, Filip. Don’t make me tell her.” 

Filip shut his mouth. 

The rest of them snickered. Jaskier covered his mouth to hold back a snort. _Damn, she’s brutal._

“What’ll it be eh, Filip?” Lena leaned forward, forearms on the wooden counter. The crackling from the fireplace filled in the silence as she fixed Filip with a stare. Jaskier thanked the gods it wasn’t him at the end of that gaze. “You have a hundred and thirty crowns on you right now?” 

“He has a hundred and thirty crowns worth of alcohol in him, that’s for sure.” Tomas said under his breath. 

Filip sighed and deflated on himself. “No... Fine. I’ll help out around here. Please don’t tell my wife,” he added in a small voice. “She’ll kill me.”

Lena only smiled.

Jozef leaned towards Jaskier. “She already knows,” he whispered conspiratorially, smirking. The two of them watched as Filip slumped back down onto his seat. The man’s build was huge - he was almost as big as Geralt, not as muscular, yet in that moment he seemed smaller than everyone else. _Gods, he felt bad for the man._

Jaskier cleared his throat and addressed the room. “There’s no need for that, folk. I’ll bear the cost of that barrel - or rather, Geralt himself will - seeing as his brilliant fucking decision to meditate in the middle of the tavern being the thing that started all this in the first place.” He pulled out his coin pouch, heavy with gold. “I’ll pay for the gentleman’s damages too.” He winked at Filip, walking over to Lena to pour the coins onto the counter.

Filip cried out in joy. “Oh, bless you, lad! I don’t have anything to give you return- oh! Let me give you a hug-” 

Jaskier turned around and held his hands up. “I appreciate the sentiment, Filip, but that’s not necessary-”

“Don’t trip on the witcher,” cautioned Aleksander, as Filip staggered upright.

“This can’t end well,” said Zofia, as the man lumbered unsteadily towards Jaskier, arms outstretched. 

“Oh gods,” said Jaskier, as Filip attempted to step over Geralt, but lost his balance instead. It happened in slow motion - Filip stumbled over the witcher, an expression of shock passing over his face, the panic palpable in his wide eyes as he descended to the floor. Everyone winced as the audible smack of skin on wood rang throughout the quiet tavern, as Filip fell face first on the floor and lay there unmoving. 

A moment of silence, and then a flurry of movement. 

“ _Holy fuck_ ," Jaskier rushed to the prone body, trying to feel for a pulse.

“Heavens above, is he dead?!” Aleksander turned Filip onto his back. The man flopped heavily onto the floor with a loud thump. 

“He’s dead,” said Lena, counting the coins on the counter. 

“Let’s pour some ale on him,” Zofia suggested, already holding up her mug.

“I’ll inform his wife.” Tomas shrugged into his jacket with a long suffering sigh, already halfway out the door.

“No!” Filip shouted, eyes flying open, jerking wildly as if the fear of his wife knowing was the very thing that brought him back to life. “No wife.” He groaned, hands raising to cradle his head. “Ow.”

“False alarm,” Jozef passed Filip a mug. “Drink up, son.”

Filip chugged his drink like a thirsty animal. He gave a sigh of relief as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, beads of liquid still glistening in his beard. "Damn that's good. What drink is that?"

Jozef stared at him. "...Its water." 

"...Oh." 

Jaskier saw movement at the corner of his eye before hearing a loud slap. He turned to see Zofia smacking Geralt on the cheek. "Fascinating," she leaned in close to inspect Geralt. "He's still not moved a single muscle. It's like he's made out of stone." Another smack.

“Ah, yes.” Jaskier nodded sagely. “Geralt is a very hard man.” 

"Can we pour more ale on him?" Aleksander held up Zofia's half-empty mug.

"Wet the floors one more time and I'm throwing all of you out." Lena threatened. 

“You didn’t object when Zofia tipped the whole damn barrel over him!” 

“That’s because I’m her favourite customer!”

"Have you all tried tickling him?" Jaskier leaned in and poked Geralt's sides experimentally, expecting the witcher to twist away in surprise. No reaction. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, eyeing the loose strands of Geralt’s hair before coming up with an idea. Settling down behind Geralt, Jaskier took out his hair tie and combed through the silver strands with his fingers, parting the top layer of hair in half. Jaskier hummed under his breath as he gathered Geralt’s hair into two messy buns on either side of his head, fishing in his pocket for one of the spare hair ties he kept, buttercup coloured with tiny dandelions on it. 

“That’s pretty,” Zofia commented, eyeing Geralt’s new hairstyle with a grin. 

“I’ve always wanted to give him fun buns,” Jaskier moved in front of Geralt to inspect his handiwork, reaching out to tousle his hair. A few strands fell out, framing the sides of Geralt’s face. He gave Geralt an affectionate smack on the cheek for good measure. Still no reaction. 

"Do you think he can hear us?" Tomas piped up from the back. “Why don’t we try insulting him? Might rile him out of his relaxed state.” 

“Should we?” Zofia asked. “I feel bad for the poor man. He’s been nothing but sweet. A little bit of a hindrance, but still sweet.”

“You pour a barrel of ale on him and smack his face, but you can’t insult him because you ‘feel bad’!?” Tomas raised his hands up in exasperation.

“We don’t have to mean it,” Filip spoke up, talking normally as if he wasn’t just knocked out a few seconds ago. There was a red patch on his forehead where he hit the floor. “Here, I’ll start.” He turned to Geralt. “Whoreson,” he enunciated carefully, sounding as if he was teaching a child the alphabet and not hurling insults at a meditating witcher. 

There was no reaction.

“Nonono,” Aleksander shook his hands. “No. You have to be more forceful, like this.” He cleared his throat and shouted. “YOU MOTHERFUCKER!”

Filip startled, looking hurt. “Why’re you shouting it at me?!”

“What?! I’m not! I’m telling you how to shout it at the witcher!” 

“I-I thought we were friends!” 

“We are! We are, Filip I-” Aleksander looked on in horror as Filip’s eyes started to water. “Oh I’m so sorry I- come here,” he opened his arms and enveloped Filip in a hug, patting his back as the drunk man sobbed into his shoulder. “There, there.” 

“I’m too old for this shit,” Jozef sighed. 

“Ah, such emotion!” Jaskier wiped a stray tear away. “This is better than most of the plays I’ve seen.” 

“Okay so insults are out.” Tomas glanced at Filip and Aleksander, looking slightly guilty. “Anybody have any other ideas?”

“Let’s stab him,” Jaskier unsheathed his dagger. 

“Absolutely not.” Lena brandished a bloodstained butcher knife. It glinted menacingly in the firelight. “I see a speck of blood on the floor and I assure you that yours will be spilt next.” She smiled at him. 

“Let’s not stab him.” Jaskier sheathed his dagger. 

“We could entice him with the smell of food.” Zofia appeared with a plate of roasted meat in her hands. “It’s been hours, he must be hungry.” She waved the food enticingly in front of Geralt.

“Grilled chicken sandwiches would be more effective-”

Geralt’s stomach rumbled. 

“It worked!” Tomas cried out. “Keep doing it!” Another plate of food materialized in Zofia’s other hand, and everyone watched, entranced, as she waved them around aggressively in Geralt’s face, like some half-mad sorceress casting a spell. 

Geralt’s stomach rumbled again.

Everyone gasped. 

“Uh,” Aleksander raised a hand meekly. “That’s- that’s my stomach. I’m sorry.”

A collective groan rang in the tavern. Zofia stopped abruptly, the food almost sliding off the plates. “Seriously?!” Tomas banged his fists on the table. “You literally just ate your dinner an hour ago!” 

“Well… yeah,” Aleksander scratched his head. “I’m uh…. I’m a growing man.”

“ _Growing?!_ Growing what?!?!”

“The limits of his idiocy-”

“Come on now, folks, let's be nice-”

“How about,” Josef spoke up, a hint of weariness in his voice. “We leave the witcher to meditate, and we all leave for a night’s rest hm? It’s getting late.”

“I’m too emotionally invested in this.” Jaskier waved his fist. “I say we keep going.” 

"We've gone too far.” Zofia said solemnly. “We _need_ to see it through." 

Tomas agreed. “No one else can do this but us.”

Filip nodded gravely, his face cast in shadow. “Either we succeed… or we _die._ ”

Aleksander placed a hand on his shoulder. “Filip, nobody is going to die.”

Jozef sighed. “Lena?” 

“Oh no, you’re all welcome to stay. You’ve proven rather entertaining to watch. It’s not everyday you get to see a bunch of jesters performing for free.”

"Thank you for your kind words.” Jozef deadpanned. 

“Alright, so ale and food doesn't work," Tomas counted off his fingers. "Hitting, shouting, insulting and tripping over him doesn't work either. Any suggestions, bard? You know the witcher best." The five of them turned to Jaskier expectantly.

"Uh-" Jaskier tapped his foot, racking his brain for an answer. _Heights? No way they were throwing Geralt off a building. Grilled chicken sandwiches? Nope, food didn’t work. Roach? He didn’t see how she could help. What else what else-_ "GWENT! Gwent." 

"We can't play him while he's meditating." Tomas frowned.

"I could try waving the cards in front of his face," Zofia whipped out her Nilfgaardian deck from seemingly nowhere.

“Anybody here have a Monster deck?” Jaskier looked around. “He had to play against Monsters three consecutive times in the last tournament. Went _absolutely fucking ape-shit._ He hates the faction now. Merely looking at the cards is enough to incite this…” he gestured vaguely, flashbacks of the previous tournament popping up in his mind. “This burning rage within him.” 

“I’m afraid I can’t help,” said Jozef. “I play Scoia'tael.”

Aleksander shrugged his shoulders. “Skellige.” 

“Northern Realms,” said Tomas.

“Toussaint,” said Filip. 

Everyone looked at him.

Jaskier cocked his head. “Is that a new deck?” 

Filip blinked. “Deck? What deck? I thought… I thought we were just naming places.” 

“Good lord.” Jozef buried his face in his hands.

“Without a monster deck, we’re out of options.” Jaskier crossed his arms.

“We can steal his cards!” Filip suggested.

“No, no. Out of the question. He’ll kill you.” Jaskier made a slashing motion across his throat. “He’ll really kill you. Painfully. Slowly. Leave you bleeding to death in the gutter.” FIlip grew pale. “Besides, I don’t know where he keeps his cards.”

“We could try... insulting his Gwent capabilities?” Tomas grimaced, his voice cracking on the last word.

“What exactly is it with you and insulting people?” Zofia raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t know, okay!” Tomas threw his hands up in surrender. “I’m just throwing out options here!” 

"Your cards suck!" Filip yelled at Geralt. "...You motherfucker!" He added, after a moment's pause. 

He turned to Aleksander hesitantly. 

"Yes, yes!” Aleksander beamed, clapping him on the back like a proud parent. “You’re getting the hang of it!" 

Geralt remained unmoving. “Nope, didn’t work.” Tomas sighed in frustration. 

Jaskier paced back and forth. “We need something stronger.” The five of them stood in silence as they thought through their options. 

“I think I have one.” 

The wooden floorboards creaked as Jaskier approached Geralt, the tranquility of his meditative state seemingly at odds with the despondence of the dimly lit tavern. He bent down to whisper in Geralt's ear just as the ringing of the night bell sounded outside, the low notes echoing loudly in the sudden quiet. “My gwent deck," Jaskier whispered seductively, "is bigger than yours.”

He made to draw back, feeling rather idiotic all of a sudden, because holy shit that might’ve been the stupidest thing he’s ever said, thank the gods Geralt didn’t hear it - 

“Is that so?” 

Wisps of hair tickled the side of his face as someone leaned in to whisper back into his own ear. Jaskier yelped as a pair of strong arms snaked around his waist and pulled him down - Jaskier found himself falling forward onto his knees, straddling Geralt as the witcher caught him in a firm but gentle grip.

A pair of golden eyes stared at him, eyebrows raised in amusement. 

“Geralt! Took you long enough.” 

“Miss me?” Geralt purred, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. 

Jaskier tilted his head in careful consideration. “Hmm. Not really, no." 

"The mirth I see in your eyes say otherwise." 

“ _Mirth,_ you say? Tell me, _dear witcher,_ what else do you see in my oh so dazzling eyes?” Jaskier batted his lashes. 

“I see… the insufferable confidence of a man with a very _large_ deck. Overconfidence, perhaps." 

"Well," Jaskier huffed. "It seems like you have been rubbing off on me after all.”

Geralt’s gaze flicked downwards before meeting his eyes. "You know I'll rub you off anytime you like, _darling._ "

“Geralt!” Jaskier smacked the brazen witcher in the chest. "Behave yourself!"

“What?” Geralt schooled his features into one of innocence. “You were the one who wanted to compare deck sizes, no?” He whispered huskily. “I’m sure it is something we can settle right now.” 

Someone cleared their throat. 

Geralt’s head snapped to the five tavern goers staring down at them, varying expressions of amusement on their faces. He looked around, blinking, as if noticing that he was in the middle of the tavern for the first time. “Oh.” His arms tightened imperceptibly around Jaskier’s waist. “I... don’t remember getting here.” 

Josef lifted his pipe to his mouth, attempting to hide a smile. “You flung the door open.” 

“Ran into everyone,” Zofia sipped from her mug.

“Knocked me down,” Filip gestured enthusiastically. “Together with three other people. And some candles.”

“Dashed to the center of the tavern,” said Tomas.

“Knelt down, and started meditating as the tavern almost caught fire around you.” Aleksander finished with a grin. 

Geralt sniffed. “Is there a reason why I smell like ale?”

“That was me.” Zofia raised her hand with a nonchalant air. “I poured a barrel of ale over you.” 

“Ah.”

Jaskier made to stand, reluctantly pulling away from Geralt. He winced slightly at the numbness in his legs. “Urgh. How do you stay like that for hours?” He extended a hand to Geralt. 

"You get used to it," Geralt took his hand and stood up, dusting off his trousers. "It actually only feels like a couple of seconds." 

“Do you… remember anything from when you were meditating?” Tomas asked apprehensively.

“No.” Geralt narrowed his eyes. “Is there something I should be remembering?”

“Ah, no.” Tomas laughed nervously, backing away. “Nothing at all, don’t mind me thank you.” 

“I- I might have called you a motherfucker,” Filip confessed, fidgeting with the frayed ends of his sleeve. “I feel really bad doing it. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. This bastard,” he jerked his head towards Jaskier, who blinked innocently, “has called me worse.”

“Oh, how I resent the accusation!” Jaskier clutched his chest in exaggerated outrage. “You wound me with your baseless remarks, _sir,_ for it was this bastard, this _very bastard,_ who took pity on the horrendous state of your hair, and took it upon himself to bestow your gorgeous flowing locks with a magnificent, never-before-seen style-” Jaskier leaned in to brush a stray strand of hair out of Geralt’s face. “You look extremely cute, by the way. It's rather distracting.” 

Geralt reached into his pocket and whipped out an ornate handheld mirror. "Hm." He gave a curt nod, his buns bouncing adorably with the motion. “Good choice. Brings out my face shape.” He tilted his head as he inspected Jaskier’s work. “It’s a little bit lopsided, though. And see, you took too much hair from this side-”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Jaskier crossed his arms, unimpressed by Geralt’s teasing. “I’ll redo it later, you ungrateful prick.” 

"You see?" Geralt shook his head sadly. "He just called me a _prick_." 

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself,” Lena cut in, setting aside her washcloth, “but you caused quite a ruckus in my tavern today, witcher.” Her eyes gleamed menacingly in the firelight as she fixed Geralt with a stare. “I think it’s only fair that I demand compensation, no?” 

“Sorry,” Geralt rubbed the back of his head, wincing sheepishly. The mirror had disappeared back into his pocket. “How much-”

“Oh no. Monetary compensation your bard has kindly taken care of,” she inclined her head towards Jaskier. “This is compensation of … a different type. _A favour,_ of sorts, if you’re being generous.” She reached below the counter, and for a brief moment Jaskier thought that she was going to brandish her butcher knife. He imagined Geralt and Lena dueling it out in the tavern - Geralt was a trained witcher, sure, but the stories he’s heard about Lena and what she did to customers that brought trouble to her tavern... he shuddered. He saw Geralt tense similarly, eyes tracking her movements as she pulled out a stack of harmless looking cards. She placed it gently on the counter. 

“How about a round of cards, hm?” She drawled, baring her teeth in a smile. She picked up the topmost card and flashed the cardback at them. Three claw marks streaked across a background of crimson red. “ _Gwent_ , specifically.” 

Jaskier swallowed as he recognized the cards. _Oh gods._ He chanced a look at Geralt at the corner of his eye.

Geralt growled, his earlier playfulness gone as he stared holes into the accursed cardback of the Monster faction. The tavern goers took a precautionary step back. Geralt’s jaw worked as he forced himself to take several measured breaths, chest heaving as he attempted to maintain his composure. _Maybe meditation is a good idea right now-_

Geralt stalked towards the counter, agitation radiating in his every step. He leaned forward until he was head to head with Lena. She met his aggression with a wide smile.

“Bring it on,” he gritted out, slamming his own deck of cards on the wooden counter. “You piece of filth.”

It was a very long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- im sorry but i really do NOT like playing against monsters (in both w3 and the gwent standalone game… ESPECIALLY the standalone….) i always play northern realms bc it just seems like the deck geralt would play?? i initially wanted jaskier to jump in with his deck but i didn't know which deck to give him…. jaskier seems like a nilfgaard kind of person to me tbh… what do you guys think!!  
> \- i dont think geralts the type to get aggressive but just. the image of a hulking witcher in fun buns going head to head with scary tavern knife lady in an extremely tense game of gwent is *chef kiss*  
> \- Jaskier’s a bit of a spectator in this chapter, I came up with the other characters on the fly but I’ve grown rather attached to them… they might make a reappearance in future chapters who knows!  
> \- filip is a himbo
> 
> [Here is a link](https://gameplay.tips/uploads/posts/2020-05/1590065828_10.jpg) to some of the cardbacks available in the gwent game (the monster cardback would be the very first one on the top left!) 
> 
> [20 glorious minutes of geralt asking for a round of gwent ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0PmBWSO5_0&feature=emb_title&ab_channel=SBthePOTATO)
> 
> Just a side note I’ll be deleting the “witcher fics'' series (just the series not the works!) so if you’re subscribed to that make sure you subscribe to the work itself (or me hehe) to continue receiving notifications for this! Thank you all for your support and absolutely wonderful suggestions, I swear I’m making my way through them skdfjldsfh as always new suggestions are always welcome so feel free to comment!!


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